


I Hear your SOS

by phoenix28IICF



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Alcohol Abuse, Angst, Beards, Depression, Fluff, Homophobia, M/M, Model Zayn, OT5, OT5 Friendship, SO MUCH FLUFF, Singer Harry Styles, Singer Louis, Slow Burn, Smut, did I mention that?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-09-02 22:43:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 49,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16796137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenix28IICF/pseuds/phoenix28IICF
Summary: “No,” Louis yelled, his voice cracking in the effort not to cry, “Don’t you understand? I’m toxic, Harry. You’ll think you can fix me but all I’ll do is drag you down and fuck you up, and then you’ll blame me for it.” Tears shimmered in his eyes, cobalt blue stark against bloodshot red. He wiped them away furiously, frustrated at his inability to hold back his pain.“No, Louis, I – I would never blame you, I-”But Louis had already turned on his heel and walked out the room without looking back. Harry thought he could physically hear the sound of his heart cracking in two.ORHarry’s an up and coming indie singer and Louis is a famous boyband member. The two of them just happened to have been at the same music camp as teenagers and they meet 6 years later at an industry party. Harry immediately integrates into every aspect of Louis’ life, and the two of them rapidly grow closer. Harry's falling, but for Louis, crossing the line from friendship to something more would be a terrible mistake.Louis doesn’t want to be rescued.But Harry can be a bit of a stubborn little shit sometimes.Featuring adorable OT5 friendships, lots of pining, fluff and Larry being stubborn.





	1. Twist of Fate

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!  
> This fic was really important to me to write, and has a special place in my heart. I hope you all can get something out of it too.  
> The title is based on a lyric in Lauren Daigle's song Rescue. It's a gorgeous song and the lyrics are perfect for this fic so give it a listen!  
> If you're enjoying it please share, or leave comments or kudos  
> All the love to you all  
> Phoenix  
> x

_I can’t stop crying, I hate that I caused you pain_

_But I can’t deny it, I just don’t feel the same_

_I’ll always love you, but tonight’s the night I choose to walk away_

_-Midnight Train_

_Sam Smith_

The shrill, jarring screech of Harry’s alarm ripped him unceremoniously from a deep slumber, piercing the cool morning air of his bedroom. It felt to Harry as though the sound had drilled right through to the core of his spine.

“Fuck,” he groaned and silenced his phone, then rolled over, burying his face in the downy pillow and tugging the duvet up to his chin.

He was exhausted. He had been writing well into the early hours of the morning, as had become custom for him and had struggled to fall asleep afterwards, his mind still swirling with melodies and lyrics and riffs and bridges. Unfortunately, he had _had_ to set an alarm, as his manager Libby would be coming over that morning to run through that week’s programme. _Whatever,_ Harry thought, _she can wake me up when she gets here_. It’s not like it would be the first time she’d seen him in pyjamas or had to wrestle him out of bed after all.

When Libby did eventually arrive, Harry had long fallen back to sleep and was enjoying that special, peaceful sort of rest that one only experiences when they switch off their alarm and go back to sleep against their better judgement.

Libby not only had a key to Harry and Zayn’s apartment, but she was also very well versed in the two men’s morning routines – or lack thereof, as she would say – and so, on knocking and hearing no reply, she assumed correctly that he was still asleep and strode into his room, wrenching open the curtains and tugging Harry’s duvet off him unceremoniously.

“Oi!” Harry complained, “Wasssat for?”

“It’s 10 ‘o clock, an entire half-hour later than we agreed and you’re still loafing in your bloody pyjamas. I’ve got a lot to do today, so move your arse, you great lump.”

Harry rolled his eyes and sat up, rubbing his eyes and peering groggily at his manager, who’s attention has shifted from him to her phone and was now texting vigorously, her impeccably lacquered nails clacking rhythmically against the screen.

Coming to the conclusion that Libby was unlikely to move or relent, he sighed melodramatically and pushed himself up off the bed to throw on a hoodie and some slippers.

He could just have easily stripped naked and done a burlesque number for all the attention Libby was paying him, but to be fair to her, as his oldest childhood friend, she wouldn’t have been bothered in the slightest had he done just that.

“Ready then, sloth-face?”

“ _Heyyyyy_ ,” Harry answered, gesturing to the doorway for her to pass before him, “Yes I’m ready. And seriously, what’s with all the name-calling this morning? I’m a sensitive soul” he sniffed indignantly.

“Mmm hmm,” she snorted, unimpressed.

Seating herself at the kitchen counter, she kicked off her murderously high stilettos with a sigh of relief and returned her phone to her massive red handbag.

“Tea?” Harry asked.

“Of course,” she replied, smiling, albeit tightly, for the first time that morning.

Harry set about preparing her tea the way he knew she took it - earl grey, no milk, two sugars - and made himself the same just for some variety.

She was stressed, Harry could tell, and there was potentially something else wrong. They always had been able to tell these things about each other; and while they weren’t actually blood-related in the strictest sense, he had just as much of a sibling bond with her as he did with Gemma.

“What’s up love?” he asked gently, handing her a blueberry muffin from the batch he had baked for a depressed Zayn the day before, “You seem a bit off. More insults than usual, and they’re not even up to your usual standard,” he teased gently.

“I know, H, I’m sorry.” She sighed deeply and massaged her temples.

“It’s just been a really stressful few days, you know? I have some new clients that are turning out to be a right pain in the ass and it’s taking everything I have not to tell them to go fuck themselves, to be honest,” she grimaced, “Unfortunately not everyone is as lovely and cooperative as you are, Harry.”

“Why thank you, Elizabeth,” Harry fluttered his eyelashes exaggeratedly which earned him a weak smile and a punch to the shoulder.

“So,” he continued, handing Libby her tea and sitting down opposite her, “What’s up? Anything specific on the menu for today?”

“Not much, really. Just a bit of housekeeping to sort out and I’ll be on my way,” she replied, immediately snapping back into business mode, “We’ve sorted out the issue we had with the studio and we’ve now got clearance for you to go in and continue recording in two weeks’ time, and hopefully for the week after that. You’re going to need to get the songs more or less finalized before then because our projected album release date is in about six weeks-time, and they’ll still be promo to organize. Speaking of promo….”

Harry groaned.

“Yes, yes I know,” she placated him, rolling her eyes a little fondly, “-but you know it’s a necessary evil. I promise it won’t be anything too big or over the top, very indie or hipster or whatever you’re choosing to call it these days.”

She mocked, but Harry knew at heart that for all her teasing, she did actually understand - that she understood how important it was to him to make _his_ kind of music on _his_ terms; and with that came his stubborn avoidance of the mainstream pop scene and media. Unfortunately for Harry though, he was popular enough (and ambitious enough) to need some promo, however low-key, to make sure he continued to be successful.

“Okay got it, so I’ve got the studio from about two weeks from now, yeah?”

“Hopefully,” Libby answered, “And tonight there’s an industry party that I definitely think you should make an appearance at. I know, I know,” she soothed, catching Harry’s defeated expression, “But there are going to be lots of influential people there that could really give you a nudge in the right direction. And you haven’t been out in quite a while, H.”

While Harry didn’t doubt that the industry party would indeed be rife with excellent networking opportunities, he knew that why Libby really wanted him to come had far more to do with his hermit-like behaviour of the past month or so. He had broken up with his boyfriend, Nick, of a year, and while in retrospect he could see that it had never been that _forever_ kind of love, that didn’t stop it from hurting like a bitch. He liked the comfort and safety of being in a relationship, and the prospect of going out again as a single man was undeniably daunting.

He decided to let Libby have this one, however.

“All right then,” he conceded, “What time do I need to be ready?”

“Excellent!” she smiled, albeit quite taken aback by his lack of resistance, “Um, well I can come and pick you up around nine if that works for you? It’s very nearby so it shouldn’t take us more than ten minutes by car. Bring Zayn along, it would do him some good to get out of the house, and there will be lots of fashion industry hotshots there for him as well.”

Harry knew what it must look like, both he and Zayn having been recently dumped and moping around the house like two pathetic moody teenagers. By whatever bizarre karmic fate, they were both going through break-ups at the same time, and Harry secretly enjoyed having someone to wallow with in his misery and self-pity. But Libby was right, it had been almost a month of muffin-baking, Hallmark movies and stubbornly refusing to interact with the outside world - it was time to get out, for the sake of both their sanity.

\------

And so it was that at 8:45pm a very grumpy and reluctant Zayn joined Harry in the living room, dressed as impeccably as ever in skinny jeans and a black leather jacket lined with elegant silver studs, his hair styled in an artful quiff. He really lived up to his description of up-and-coming male model; a bonafide sculpted god. If only he was Harry’s type (and they hadn’t been best friends since they were toddlers), it would make both their lives so much easier. Harry himself wore his favourite billowy sheer black blouse with his signature skinnies and heeled Chelsea boots. The leather had faded and the heels worn down, but they were his favourite and he stubbornly refused to wear any other pair. He gave his hair a last artful ruffle in the entrance-way mirror, and deemed himself appropriate. He figured that if he was going to miserable and dragged to a party against his will, he might as well look good doing it.

Libby arrived as promised at 9 on the nose, and the three of them piled into her car, Harry attempting to act more positive than he felt, Zayn just outright moping, making it very clear that he was here against his will. Harry was reminded of their many misguided teenage adventures; the three best friends driving around in Zayn’s second-hand Fiat with Oasis and the Arctic Monkeys blasting too loud, feeling as though they might one day take over the world. How long ago it felt, how far removed this life was from the one they were currently living. Often, Harry would wake up and still think he was in his little bedroom in Cheshire, not living out in a swanky apartment in London. He had been incredibly lucky, and he did not forget it for a second; the reception for his first single and EP had been beyond anything 17-year-old Harry could ever have imagined. But he was nonetheless tentative, he knew that he was in a crucial position at the moment: a step forward into the limelight would mean success and renown, but also a complete loss of anonymity and the inevitable pressure of a label, whereas a step back would ensure he would stay entirely true to himself but could mean that his music and his message would get lost in oblivion. This was the internal tussle that had been raging in Harry’s brain for months, ever since he had started writing for his first full album.

Tonight however, the presence of agents and contacts notwithstanding, was really about getting back out there again. As resistant and sullen as both he and Zayn had been acting about it, in his heart of hearts, Harry knew that moping around the house for another two weeks wasn’t going to get them anything but more misery.

“Alright, lads, I want to be at this party just about as much as you do, so I’ll probably just say my hello’s, make nice for a while and then head out, but I want you two to stay for a while, please,” Libby said sternly, and Harry was uncannily reminded of his mother.

“Alright, mom,” Zayn grumbled, apparently thinking along the same lines as Harry.

Libby handed the keys to her Kia to a valet, blushing slightly and they headed into Olly Murs’ lavish house, where they were immediately inundated by crowds of celebrities, the thumping base so strong as to permeate their skulls.

“I’m going to get a drink,” Zayn muttered, and headed off into the throng, leaving Harry to look around desperately for a space where he wouldn’t be crushed. After a few minutes or so of feeling slightly uncomfortable, he caught side of Olly, who beamed and barrelled towards him, clearly already quite pissed.

“Harry! Mate! So glad you came!” he shouted over the din and tugged him into a crushing hug. Harry had known Olly for a while now, it was he who helped him find his feet in the very beginning, he who had helped him find a good recording studio and as such, Harry was rather fond of him.

“This here,” he gestured to the pretty woman on his left, “Is Rita. Absolute star, this one, and a sweetheart too,” he winked, not a hint of subtlety to be found.

“Hi there, Harry,” she smiled genuinely, “I’ve heard a lot about you; only good things I swear.’

Olly ambled off to greet more of his guests and Harry stayed chatting to Rita who, as it turned out, was indeed absolutely lovely and a riot to boot.

It was when Harry was finally starting to relax and feel less anxious and uncomfortable that it happened.

Just a few paces away from where he stood chatting to Rita, he saw a familiar lanky frame topped with an exaggerated quiff and he froze, his mouth slightly agape.

 _Fuck,_ Harry thought, _this was just his luck_. How the hell had this nightmare actually come true?

“Harry are you alri- oh, _hi Nick_!”

“You know Nick?” Harry asked stupidly.

“Of course, you numpty! He’s only one of my best mates! Come here dickhead,” and she waved him over to Harry’s sheer horror.

His steely eyes landed on Harry and immediately turned to ice.

“Harry,’ he acknowledged tersely with a nod of his head.

“Ah, you know each other! Fab! Well, I’ll leave you two to chat; I’ve _got_ to go for a wee.”

And she drifted off, leaving a very uncomfortable and prickly silence in her wake.

“Never been very good at reading atmosphere, has our Rita,” Nick grimaced.

“Hi, Nick, you’re uh… you’re looking good,” Harry managed to choke out. _What was he saying? Jesus, Harry, get your shit together!_

Nick let out a humourless laugh. “No thanks to you, huh, popstar?”

Nick _knew_ Harry absolutely hated to be called that, and from the bitter sneer contorting his features, it appeared that he had done so on purpose.

"I didn't know you were friends with Rita," Harry offered, just for something to say. It was a little weird that Nick hadn't introduced them in their entire year of dating if he was really "one of her best mates."

"We met a month or two ago," Nick shrugged coldly, "She helped me get through...." He trailed off, his face sour.

Right, that.

Harry was having trouble breathing.

“I – I” he gestured vaguely in the direction of the crowd, “I need to…” he stuttered helplessly, before darting away, his heart thumping wildly against his ribcage, not sure where he was going; just knowing he had to get as far away as possible from where Nick stood, sneering and hostile.

He found himself stood outside in a little garden alcove, breathing in lungfuls of crisp January air and trying to calm the rising panic in his throat. He was struggling to breathe normally, his palms sweaty and shaking, his vision blurring, and was just able to register that he was in the midst of a panic attack.

Just then, a delicate hand rested on his shoulder and a worried voice asked, “You okay there, mate?”

Harry could barely see by this point and had sunk to the ground. The stranger crouched down beside him, taking Harry’s hands and urging him to look at him. “It’s okay, it’s okay lad, just take some deep breaths okay? Here, I’ll do it with you, in… and out.” The stranger stayed there for a while, just breathing with Harry until the panic eased and Harry returned to a calmer and more lucid state, the shake in his hands losing intensity and his vision returning to normal

“Oh thank god,” the man sighed, “How are you feeling mate?”

Embarrassed. Pathetic. Upset. Ashamed.That’s how he was feeling.

But instead he said: “All right. Thank you for-” he gestured futilely, unable to form a coherent sentence, but the man seemed to understand anyway. He smiled kindly and took a seat opposite Harry, drawing his collar up to his ears for warmth.

“Don’t even mention it uh….?”

“Harry. Harry Styles. It’s a.. it’s a p-pleasure to meet you; although usually I prefer not to be cowered on the floor in the middle of a panic attack when I meet people.”

He looked up but the boy wasn’t smiling anymore, but rather sat upright, stock still with widened eyes and his jaw gaping open.

“Harry….. _Styles_ did you say?” he asked.

“Uh…yeah?” Harry replied in confusion.

“It’s uh Louis, Louis Tomlinson. Do you remember – oh never mind of course not” The man looked away hurriedly, digging his hands deeper into his pockets and shrugging his shoulders a little.

“Louis,” Harry said slowly, rolling the name over on his tongue. Suddenly, his eyes lit up, “from music camp?”

“Yeah,” Louis grinned, seemingly relieved that Harry had recognized him, “the very same. _Jeeeesus_ mate, he whistled, “It’s been what, 6 years or summat?”

Harry nodded, still a little dumbfounded. _Of course_ , how hadn’t he been able to tell? In the midst of his panic attack he hadn't been able to see clearly but now...there were those same piercing blue eyes, that same silken gold hair, that same smooth caramel skin. But this Louis looked different somehow, older - just as gorgeous as Harry remembered him – but with more sharply defined cheekbones, pronounced worry lines around his eyes and mouth, and arms covered in sprawling black ink. He also had an unmistakeably defeated look about him that Harry did not recognize at all.

“Yeah, six years,” Harry replied.

“Well you haven’t half grown up, kid,” Louis grinned, “You look... different. A right beanstalk you are, and are those tattoos I spy?”

“As if you’re one to talk, Tomlinson” Harry said, his voice no longer uncharacteristically quiet and wavering, regaining a bit of the composure and dignity he had lost in first the panic attack, and then in the shock of recognizing Louis, and gestured to Louis’ arms, “They look sick, mate.”

It felt strange calling Louis ‘mate’; the last time they had seen each other, they had parted with a tender and lingering kiss, one imbued with the hope that maybe, one day, or had the circumstances been different, it could have been more. But Harry was following Louis’ lead and this was clearly the approach he wanted to take.

“So, how have you been then?” Louis asked, getting to his feet and offering Harry a hand to help him up.

“Good, no complaints I guess, ‘ve only been in London a year or so but I’m getting used to it now.”

“You still making music?” Louis asked, interestedly.

“Yeah, but probably nothing you’ve listened too,” Harry shrugged, almost apologetically, “It’s kind of indie, though I hate that word,” he scrunched up his nose, “-but it’s the kind of stuff I like so I’m happy, I guess.”

For his part, Harry was well aware that Louis was still making music; indeed, there were probably very few people who weren’t aware of the fact. As part of one of the biggest boybands in the UK, Louis Tomlinson was a household name and while Harry himself made a point of never following the tabloids and keeping off social media, he had inevitably heard the name pass around in his social circle or occasionally on the radio.

“That’s sick! I’ll make sure to give it a listen,” he smiled earnestly, the cobalt of his irises glinting in the light of the garden lamps.

“Oh, you don’t have to do-”

“Oh shut up, of course I will! I always knew you’d be a star.”

Harry blushed and looked down at the ground, slightly abashed.

“Seriously though, I’m happy for you that you’re doing what you want to do. I’m going to sound like such an ungrateful twat right now, but-” Louis heaved a deep sigh, and took a cigarette and lighter out of his pocket, “-sometimes you get caught up in all this industry shit and… you end up being someone you’re not and doing things you didn’t think you ever would, know what I mean? Smoke?”

Harry hadn’t smoked in years, but accepted a cigarette nonetheless.

“And I don’t mean to sound bitter or anything,” he continued, gazing wistfully at a point somewhere ahead of him, “But no one tells you that kind of shit when you sign up. No one tells you that-” He cut himself off, seeming to realize that he had maybe already said too much.

“I’m really sorry, Louis,” Harry said softly, reaching out and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Bless you, Harry, I’m sat here ranting about shit that I should be grateful to have… and you’ve just had a panic attack. Just as fucking selfish as always.” He scolded himself, shaking his head, his expression bitter.

‘Hey, don’t say that,” Harry frowned and squeezed Louis’ shoulder, trying to find a way to comfort him that didn’t cross any lines. Harry wasn’t 100% that he should say what he wanted to say next, but figured that, judging from how open Louis had been in the past few minutes, he was unlikely to run for the hills.

“You really shouldn’t… like, feel guilty I mean…You made me feel normal, you know? Most people would feel awkward and make things uncomfortable, treat me like I’m a nutter or summat…. Well, most people wouldn’t sit with me through a panic attack at all, now I think about it. I really do appreciate it.”

Louis just nodded and took a drag of his cigarette.

Harry’s eyes were fixated on the way Louis’ cheeks hollowed around the cigarette, and had to physically shake himself back to reality when Louis asked his next question.

“So, if you don’t mind me asking, why are you out here? The garden I mean, not London.”

“Ran into an ex” Harry said grimly, “Well my most recent ex… It was a … _messy_ break up, to say the least, and we’re not exactly on speaking terms. We were alone and he wasn’t saying anything and I had no idea what to say anyway so - I guess I just panicked…”

Louis nodded sombrely. “Sorry about that, he sounds like a right wanker if you ask me.”

Harry grinned, but it faded and was replaced immediately with an almost bitter expression.

“Nah, I was the one who broke up with him. It was-” Harry sighed. He wasn’t sure why exactly he was spilling his heart out to Louis. Perhaps it had to do with how open Louis had been with him without any prompting whatsoever. Or maybe it was the easy way he felt like he just understood Harry in a way that only Louis ever had, as though six years had never passed, and they were still the naïve teenagers sharing whispered conversations in a shared camp dorm.

“- now I’m the one who’s going to sound like a twat. I broke up with him after a year of dating because I knew I wasn’t in love with him. I think I’d known for a while to be honest and I probably thought I might be able to get there eventually… but as time went on…” Harry sighed. He had tried. Things had always been easy with Nick; they had barely ever fought, their families had meshed well and his group of friends had immediately accepted Harry as one of their own. They were friends first, and after a while decided to take it a step further. It was after maybe three months of dating or so that Harry sensed there was something missing. Their break up had been one of their only fights, and potentially had elicited the strongest emotion out of Harry throughout their year-long relationship.

“I honestly wish I had said something sooner, you know? Before it got so complicated…but I just felt so awful at the time, I couldn’t hurt him… I _never_ wanted to hurt him and now, whenever I think of it, I feel so guilty because I was so fucking selfish, stringing him along for so long.”

Louis was eyeing Harry curiously, a strange look in his eyes.

“What?” Harry asked.

“Nothing,” he shook his head, “It’s just that you’re the same Harry, you haven’t changed at all. Too kind and too compassionate; beating yourself up over something that wasn’t your fault. If you weren’t in love with him, it wasn’t selfish to end it, you do realize that right?”

It may have been six years, and they may have only known each other then for four weeks, but Harry couldn’t help feeling that talking to Louis felt like conversing with another part of his own soul. He was unsure of how someone he had known for such a short time and such a long time ago could understand him better than he understood himself. All he knew was that, sat outside in an abandoned side-garden with Louis, while everyone else was partying inside felt both irrepressibly exciting and strangely comforting at the same time.

“The thing is,” Harry said after a while, not really answering Louis’ question, “I haven’t been able to write about it. Usually, that kind of thing will give me some sort of inspiration but its’ just not coming to me at the moment… I know that’s kinda fucked up to be focusing on that now but-” Harry shrugged. It was the truth. Despite the messy break up and the flood of feelings, Harry had been blocked for ages.

“Nah, it’s not,” replied Louis, “I get what you mean. Maybe you just need a change of atmosphere y’know?”

Harry considered this. Louis did make a fair point: trying to write in the same apartment that he had been stewing in for weeks was probably not helping the problem.

“You know,” Louis began tentatively, “I have a music room in my house…’s got guitars, a piano and some low grade recording equipment. If you’re stuck you could come along and work there for a bit?”

His tone was nervous, perhaps even a bit hopeful.

“That would be amazing,” Harry said earnestly.

They chatted for a while, about how their lives had been in those six years, about exes and friends, their families, mutual acquaintances, songwriters, tours, TV shows and music. Harry felt utterly captivated by Louis; by his glittering eyes tinged with mischief, his stories that made Harry cackle unabashedly with raucous but genuine laughter and the enchanting smile he gave Harry when he had successfully made him laugh where his eyes would go all crinkly at the corners.

After what felt like barely a couple of minutes but was really over an hour and a half, a blonde boy poked his head around the door and exclaimed, “Louis, ya dickhead! There y’are! We’ve been looking for ya everywhere.”

“Hey Nialler,” Louis grinned up at the boy and shrugged, “You’ll have t’ blame Harry here for that, was keeping me right entertained.”

The boy smiled widely and tugged Harry, who had leapt up in shock at the sudden intrusion, into a crushing hug. “Good t’a meet ya, lad. I’m Niall.” He seemed to immediately have taken Louis’ acceptance of Harry as a seal of approval and more than enough to accept him himself and immediately launched off into a conversation with a slightly bewildered and taken aback Harry. He quickly found out that Niall was in the band with Louis (though of course, Harry knew this, knowing the band members’ names and put two and two together – Niall wasn’t exactly that common a name), he loved a bit of footie, (though as a proud Irishman, he refused point-blank to support any English teams), and that the band was currently on a break after having released their latest album.

Harry had started to shiver by the time that Louis got up, placing a hand on Niall’s shoulder and saying: “All right then, Nialler, I think that’s enough now. Poor lad’s gonna freeze t’ death.”

“But he was just telling me about his Beef Wellington recipe…” Niall pouted.

Harry had indeed let slip that he could cook, and from the way that Niall’s eyes had lit up immediately, he took it that this was the way to this boy’s heart. Despite his almost overpowering enthusiasm, Harry really liked Niall, and could see them becoming good friends, if the opportunity presented itself.

“Right, Harry, I think me and Nialler best be off now,” Louis said apologetically. “It was great to meet you, well _re-_ meet you, I guess,” he smiled. Harry didn’t want the interaction to end; didn’t want the best thing that had happened to him in _months_ to slip between his fingers, but felt helpless to stop it.

“Yeah, great t’a meet ya lad,” Niall said and hugged Harry again, heading for the door and clearly expecting Louis to follow him.

“It really was good,” Louis said, his voice much softer now, more intimate somehow. He stepped close to Harry and smiled almost shyly. “And, uh, if you want to take me up on my offer to use the music room, it still stands, yeah? Or, uh, if you want to come by t’a chill wi’ t’lads, that invite’s open too. I think Nialler’s quite taken with you,” Louis grinned, winking mischievously.

“Well I’ll just have to come around to cook for him then, won’t I?” Harry grinned.

He was about to point out that this would actually be impossible considering they had no way of contacting each other, when Louis handed him his phone.

“Put your number in there?” he asked, cheekily - but with an underlying hint of something like uncertainty.

 _Louis Tomlinson just asked for your number._ Harry’s fingers were tingling, and he wondered briefly whether he was going to have another panic attack.

He returned Louis’ phone and smiled down at him, more boldly now. _Hmmm,_ he thought, _this is different._ He hadn’t noticed before - possibly because they had been sitting for most of the time - but whereas Louis had been a similar height to Harry at 17, Harry was now more than a head taller. Louis was really rather small. Harry was not sure quite why that made his breath shorten or his nose scrunch.

Then, the smaller boy leant in and pressed a quick peck to Harry’s cheek and then he was gone, and Harry was stood there in the freezing January air, utterly shell-shocked and a little disbelieving of what had just happened.

\------

“Okay, so run this by me again, yeah?” Zayn asked in weary disbelief, rubbing a hand across his throbbing temples, “You met two members of like, the biggest boy-band of our era, one of whom talked you through a panic attack and, oh yeah, _just happened_ to be at the same music camp as you when you were 15? That can’t actually be true.”

“I know right,” Harry nodded solemnly, “It’s beyond crazy. If I didn’t know it was 100% true, then I’d think it was the bizarre premise for some rom-com or other.”

Harry took his and Zayn’s empty mugs to the dishwasher and started taking things out for breakfast. Right now, he was thanking his lucky stars that he had had only one drink the night before, and as a result was able to remember the night in full detail. Zayn was even moodier than usual, as he tended to be when hungover, having had far too much to drink and far too little fun. Harry had found it practically impossible to fall asleep, his mind buzzing; a cocktail of excitement and confusion, and he had wasted no time in relaying the entire night’s events to an unenthusiastic and unresponsive Zayn over their morning cup of tea.

He had practically been glued to his phone, jumping every time it buzzed in the hope that it might be Louis texting, but so far he had heard nothing. Zayn eyed him wearily as he cracked two eggs into a pan.

“Be careful, Harry,” he warned, so quietly Harry almost missed it.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, perplexed.

“I mean,” Zayn sighed tiredly, “That you’ve just gotten out of a year-long relationship. And I get that this Louis guy sounds nice and all, but he’s in a _boyband.”_

“And what has that got to do with anything?” Harrys asked, somewhat affronted.

“Jesus, you’d think you’re the one with the hangover,” Zayn grumbled, “Keep up, H. I know you don’t follow social media or anything like that but you do know about the closeted boy-band member trope, right? _If_ he’s gay - which you don’t even know yet, there’s no way he’d be out; and that’s something both you and I know you wouldn’t be handle. I’m pretty sure he has a girlfriend anyway… at least in the eyes of the media.”

It was probably the most he had ever heard out of Zayn in one go and Harry was kind of wishing he would return to his sullen silence. As it so happened, Harry had decided in his mind the night before that he wanted to be friends with Louis; and had immediately ruled out anything else on the very basis of all the points Zayn had just made, but somehow he still felt deflated. Of course, Zayn had made a very valid point; Harry _didn’t_ follow celebrity media and as such wouldn’t actually know about a potential girlfriend. Was she a beard? Was Louis actually gay or had the two weeks they had been together at camp all those years ago really just been Louis experimenting, and this girl was the real deal? He was feeling even more confused than the night before, but the elation he had felt was gone. Even if he was into guys, Zayn was right; there was no way around it: Harry hated secrecy and closeting and would never be able to handle that.

Zayn seemed to realize that he had been a bit harsh, and sighed, opening his arms for Harry to hug him. Harry went easily and rested against Zayn’s bony frame, breathing in the familiar scent of tobacco and spiced cologne, feeling a bit of relief. Zayn stroked his back gently. “I’m sorry, H, you know I didn’t mean it like that, yeah? It’s just that we’ve both been through hell relationship-wise lately and I worry? I don’t like to see you get hurt. Who knows, maybe this Louis guy is the real deal.”

Harry let go and went to fish the eggs out of the pan, serving them onto slices of toast and bringing the plates to the table, still feeling rather dejected.

“I mean, I wasn’t even really thinking about that you know? I was thinking more along the lines of friendship I guess…” he mused, pausing with a forkful of egg halfway to his mouth. “He was so kind, funny too. And he knew so much about the industry. Even if you are right, Z, it’s worth being friends, no?”

Zayn considered, and then nodded. “If what you’ve told me about him is true then yeah. God knows you need some new friends now.”

Zayn was right of course. Harry and Nick had been part of the same group of friends; it was how they had met and eventually started dating. Unfortunately, that meant that Harry’s friends were Nick’s friends, and while not all of them had actually taken sides in the whole thing, things were now so awkward that he hadn’t hung out with them since.

Zayn crossed his knife and fork, having managed his egg and only half of his toast, which was something of an achievement for him lately. When he was depressed or under pressure, he tended to completely lose his appetite and would either forget to eat or take a few mouthfuls and pronounce himself full. Harry had sneakily been finding ways to make sure he took in enough food, leaving bowls of snacks out when they were watching films and cooking all of Zayn’s favourites. They were brothers; and brothers are there to look after each other when they can’t look after themselves.

“Right,” Harry said, clapping his hands together, “I’d better get going. I need to get to work on finishing up those bloody tracks today,” he rolled his eyes and gave a put-upon sigh. “What’s your day going to be like?”

Zayn yawned widely. “Ugh, I have a meeting with my manager at midday and then one with the new Vogue photographer afterwards to prep for tomorrow’s shoot, but apart from that, I’m more or less free.”

Harry nodded, and gave Zayn a quick hug, before gathering up their plates to put in the dishwasher and ambling off to take a shower. He _had_ to be productive today. He had been going through a severe bout of writer’s block recently; seemingly unable to commit a single lyric to paper. It was strange too, because he had just come off an emotional breakup which really should have fuelled his creativity, but it seemed to have done just the opposite. He just hadn’t been able to write anything of substance lately. Unfortunately, Louis hadn’t texted him yet, so for now he had no choice but to stay in.

It turned out to be a long, boring and almost entirely unproductive day, so when Harry finally climbed into bed that night, he was grateful it was over. Something had to change, because this just wasn’t working for him.

As he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, he had no idea of how different the next day would be.


	2. Stubbornness and Foolish Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The song that Harry "writes" in this one is Midnight Train by Sam Smith which is absolutely gorgeous and captures exactly what Harry was feeling - I would really recommend giving it a listen!
> 
> The hair-falling-in-Harry's-eye thing was inspired by that adorable clip of him glaring at a stray lock during HSLOT, I'll look for the gif but I'm sure you've all seen it.
> 
> The title is a lyric from "There's no stopping us now" by the Supremes.
> 
> We're still warming up a bit, building the characters and relationships but never fear! There'll be quite a lot more drama soonish.
> 
> I will also post a fic playlist at the end of this fic. Right now I'm thinking it will be about ten chapters or so, but who knows?
> 
> Love  
> P  
> x

_'Cause I want the one I can't have_ __  
And it's driving me mad  
It's all over, all over, all over my face

_-I want the one I can’t have_

_The Smiths_

“Oi Liam, that’s cheating!” Niall yelled, gesticulating wildly with one hand while the other held the remote.

“You’re just saying that because he’s winning,” Zayn grinned smugly.

Louis looked over, an amused look in his eye, and nodded towards the kitchen.

“Fancy another beer?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, “Best to get out of their way, don’t want to be caught in the crossfire.”

Louis gave Harry a crinkly smile and led them to the kitchen, where he pulled a beer out of the fridge for each of them.

Three days had passed since their initial meeting when Harry had finally received a text from Louis inviting he and Zayn over. The two of them had been tucked up on the couch, post-dinner, when Harry’s phone buzzed. He immediately jumped to check it, earning himself a knowing look from Zayn.

_Hey Harry, it’s Louis. The lads are coming over to chill tomorrow evening, wondered if you wanted to come?_

Harry immediately typed out a response, not bothered about waiting an acceptable time to reply.

_Sure. Can I bring Zayn along?_

**Course. See you tomorrow at 7?**

_yep! Looking forward to it :)_

And so now here they were, in Louis’ massive house, the five of them together- having a great time and acting as if they had known each other for years. Niall had greeted Harry like an old friend, and Liam, who was a little quieter but incredibly kind and sincere, had made both he and Zayn feel welcome straight away. Harry didn’t think he had ever seen Zayn look so immediately comfortable with anyone in his life. Usually shy and mistrusting of new people, Zayn had clicked with Liam at once and the two had been practically inseparable the entire evening.

For his part, Harry himself felt inexplicably drawn to Louis. There seemed to be an instinctual level of comfort between the two men; they had sat close to each other, and when Louis had rested his head on Harry’s shoulder, it had felt natural, like this was something they had done a thousand times before. Louis had been entertaining Harry with hilarious anecdotes all evening and he couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed this hard or this much. He marvelled once again at the bizarre unspoken bond they seemed to have, despite not knowing each other that well.

The two men now stood in the kitchen, Louis with his back against the fridge and Harry with his against the counter, both of them secretly a bit exhausted from the competitiveness of the intense FIFA tournament they had somehow gotten themselves into, and enjoying the peace and quiet.

“So, Liam and Zayn, huh?” Louis asked with an air of nonchalance, though the glint of mischief in his eyes betrayed him.

Harry grinned. “I _know_ right?! They’re not even being subtle about it!”

Louis chuckled and took a swig of his beer.

“We’ll have to keep an eye on that. We makin’ bets?”

“Well there’s no point in _that_ , is there?” Harry asked, rolling his eyes. “Anyone with a brain can see that they’ll be together within the month. Zayn’s flirting so hard out there I’m a little worried he might pull a muscle.”

Louis snorted, some beer going up his nose, which made him splutter and spray liquid everywhere. Harry couldn’t stop giggling, and Louis’ dramatic glare only made him laugh more.

When they had both calmed down, Harry considered asking about the music room, now that they had a moment to themselves, but was a little anxious that this gesture had just been a act of politeness and not really something Louis had expected Harry to follow through on.

“So, Louis… I don’t know if you remember offering… and obviously if you’ve changed your mind, it’s not a problem of course, I can definitely find somewhere else to write so don-”

“Oh shit, I completely forgot Harry. I promised to let you use my music room, didn’t I?”

Harry nodded a little sheepishly, worried that he had somehow crossed a line by asking about it but Louis just smiled and said: “Well the offer still stands, of course. We’re on break so we’re doing fuck all at the moment; just come by whenever. Tomorrow, if you’d like?”

“Thank you, Louis, that would be so great,” Harry smiled, a little taken aback.

“ _OI! YOU TWO_! Where’ve ya got to?” Niall bellowed from the next room and Louis rolled his eyes at Harry, shrugging. “Best be getting back, his royal highness’ getting’ impatient.”

Harry grinned and made his way towards the door, feeling a warm hand on his lower back, guiding him. Why he needed guiding he was not 100% sure, considering that they were just going into the adjacent room, but he certainly wasn’t going to complain about it.

\------ 

The next morning Harry felt inexplicably nervous, his stomach twitchy as though there were rabbits jumping up and down in there.

When he used this description to Zayn, he earned himself a splutter and a howl of laughter. “Honestly, Harry, I don’t know where you get this shit from,” he snorted with derision.“But,” he continued, his expression becoming more serious, “Not sure why you're nervous. You’re just a _friend_ going to a _friend’s_ house to write some music in the _friend’s_ music room.”

“Yes of course. Friends. Laddy bro-pals,” Harry agreed immediately.

Zayn shook his head, his expression a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

“Seriously Harry.” 

“I don’t know what leg you think you have to stand upon mister,” Harry said, raising an eyebrow, “You practically flirted your pants off last night. Don’t try telling me that you and Liam are just bro-pals.”

“For the love of God,” said Zayn, “Stop using that expression, I can _guarantee_ it does _not_ exist. And for your information, I was not flirting.” Harry made to interrupt, but Zayn cut him short. “And anyway, he isn’t gay. He has a girlfriend, that he seems very much attached to. So, he isn’t gay.”

Harry wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t know whether he should tell Zayn that it was for the best or whether to hug him and say he was sorry. For all that Zayn was warning him against getting involved with Louis and for all his nonchalance, Harry could tell that he was disappointed and hurting. He had learned last night that Louis’ girlfriend Eleanor was in fact a beard and simply assumed that Sophia must be one too. Unfortunately (or fortunately? Harry was still a bit confused as to how he should be feeling), this was not the case.

Harry settled for a comforting pat to Zayn’s shoulder and he shrugged on his trench coat. “I’m going now, Z. There’s lasagne in the fridge which you can heat up if you get hungry.”

“I’m not a child Harry, I can feed myself you know,” Zayn said, rolling his eyes, but there was clear affection in his tone.

When Harry arrived at Louis’ he was once again stunned by the magnificence of his London house. Harry earned a perfectly decent living, but it was in a completely different league to Louis’; while he could afford to shop at Waitrose and treat himself to the occasional high-fashion item of clothing, he most certainly couldn’t afford an indoor swimming pool, a specialized music room or a massive cinema.

Louis opened the door and beamed at Harry, ushering him inside and taking his coat. Louis was wearing a baggy white t-shirt that dipped low enough to expose his delicate collarbones, scrawled with black ink, and loose tracksuit bottoms, his hair a little rumpled as though he had just gotten out of bed. He looked _soft,_ Harry thought, just so _soft_ , and Harry had to scrunch up his nose to contain the fond expression he knew would show.

“I’ll show you the room, then. Was about to make some tea for meself, if you’d like some?’ Louis asked, walking ahead.

“That would be great, thanks.”

He led Harry to the music room and opened his arms as if to say “Ta-Da!”

It was just as Louis had described, functional but small and completely unpretentious. There was a piano in the corner and several guitars lining the wall, a plush maroon couch with fluffy cushions lining the opposite wall. There were no platinum records or awards decorating the walls as Harry would have expected from an international popstar who had won so many – but rather various posters of what appeared to be Louis’ favourite bands, among them the Artic Monkeys, Oasis, the Stone Roses and the Smiths.

“It’s not much,” Louis began a little shyly, “But I’ve always worked best in here.”

Harry sank down onto the sofa and smiled up at Louis.

“It’s fantastic. Do you usually do your writing alone?”

“Sometimes,” Louis replied, taking a seat beside Harry on the sofa, “But I usually write with Liam. We’ve always worked well together; he’s more the melody man and I tend to write lyrics. It’s good to have someone to bounce lyrics off, y’know?”

Harry did know. But unfortunately, the person _he_ used to bounce his ideas off could no longer stand to be in the same room as him.

Louis seemed to pick up immediately on Harry’s shift in mood and patted his arm kindly. “I know, it sucks,” he commiserated softly.

Harry nodded, biting his lip.

“I…I could sit with you if you’d like?” Louis began tentatively, “I’m gonna need to start writing again at some point anyways so I may as well…but obviously only if you want,” he finished hurriedly.

“That would be great, actually,” Harry said.

“Right!” Louis beamed, clapping his hands together and getting to his feet, “I’ll just be off to make the tea then. Mi casa es su casa, or whatever they say. Mi music room es su music room?” Harry watched the sway of Louis bum as he walked away and had to shake himself out of it, internally scolding himself.

Harry didn’t think he had ever had such a good writing session before. They had been at it for hours, but it felt like no time had passed at all. Sometimes they would both be writing or jotting down ideas in comfortable silence, sometimes Harry would pluck out a tune on the guitar while Louis tried out different lyrics or Louis would tinkle a melody on the piano, humming softly to himself. Harry had started writing a new song that morning with Louis’ help and, amazingly, it was almost finished. He was a little stunned at how easily he had finally been able to put his actual feelings into words, after so long being stuck in what had seemed to be an inescapable rut.

He had the chorus and the second verse down pat, but he was struggling with the first verse, unsure if he was actually conveying what he wanted.

He sang the lyrics quietly, trying to figure out what should come next.

_But I give a little piece of me away, every waking day that I’m with you_

_Am I a monster? what will your family think of me?_

And then he was stuck. He knew _what_ he wanted to say but he wasn’t sure just _how_ to say it in a way that fit with the rest of the lyrics.

He tapped his pencil against his lips pensively, scanning his tattered notebook to see if there were any discarded lyrics that he could adapt or expand on.

Harry looked up to see Louis looking at him in question, his eyes kind and curious.

“Did you meet his family?” he asked, softly.

Harry nodded. It was a particularly sore spot for him. Nick had taken a long time to finally introduce Harry to his family, but when he had, they had immediately gelled. Harry was still struggling with being openly gay in the music industry at the time, not as thick-skinned and experienced as he was now, and Nick’s family had been incredibly supportive and kind. It was one of the many things that had made the guilt that much worse. One of Nick's biggest fears was that he would introduce someone to his family and then they would break up. Harry still hadn't forgiven himself for that one.

“I get it, Harry,” Louis said with compassion, extending a hand to squeeze Harry’s. Apparently, Harry had said the last bit out loud.

Louis turned back to his guitar and began plucking out the tune, his higher voice repeating Harry’s verse and adding on:

_They brought me in, they helped me out with everything_

_But I give a little piece of me away, every single day._

Harry gazed at Louis in surprise. The lyric was really good and fitted exactly with what he had wanted to say. Louis looked up at him, a questioning look in his eyes.

"What do you think?"

“I…. that’s perfect, Lou.” He said, “Could I use it?”

“Of course you can use it, you numpty, that's the whole point of writing as a team,” Louis grinned, shaking his head.

Harry edited a few parts here and there and tinkled for a bit longer until he was confident he had a rough first draft of the song. He checked his phone and saw that it was 10pm. “Jesus, it’s late,” Harry cursed. He had been there for almost nine hours.

“I should really go,” he sighed regretfully.

“Not before you play me that song, you don’t,” smirked Louis, “And don’t give me that look, I know you’ve finished it.”

Harry heaved a put-upon sigh, and took the guitar from Louis, grinning. ‘All right then, one rendition you get, and just ‘cause you’re being a pain.”

"Me, a pain?" Louis asked aghast, holding his hand over his heart in mock indignation. Louis gestured towards Harry's guitar, urging him to play and sat up, attentive.

“1, 2, 3, 4…”

Harry strummed some mellow chords and began to sing in his low, raspy voice.

_I choose me, and I know that’s selfish love,_

_You are a dream and I can’t thank you enough…_

Harry got lost in the song, allowing the emotion to take over. It was exactly what he had wanted to write: an honest portrayal of how he had been feeling about the breakup. He _had_ loved Nick, and he missed his friendship, but he couldn’t continue on, knowing that he was in so much deeper than Harry was.

As he strummed the last chord, he looked up at Louis to gauge his reaction.

Louis was smiling softly, the skin around his eyes crinkling in the way that they did when his smile was genuine.

“What do you think?” Harry asked nervously.

“It’s very different from your usual sound,” Louis said, “But I think it’s brilliant. It’s such a beautiful song that tells the truth without any intention of hurting anyone. It’s kind of the perfect song for you, in that way. Shit happens, but you never want to hurt anyone, you're just trying to be fair to yourself and others.”

“You really like it?”

“Yes, you twat,” Louis grinned, tossing a pillow at Harry’s face.

Harry smiled, secretly bubbling inside with excitement. He had finally written something worthwhile, and not only that, but he had also earned Louis’ seal of approval. He still had to finish off some half-written songs, but after that day’s session he felt far more confident that he would actually be able to get everything done in time.

“Would it be alright if I came back tomorrow?” Harry asked tentatively, as he retrieved his trench coat from the hall cupboard.

“Of _course_ it’s ok,” Louis answered, rolling his eyes again. “Mi music room es su music room, remember.”

Harry thanked Louis two more times and gave one last dimply smile, waving goodbye and hurrying through the biting January cold back to his car.

\------

For the next week and a half or so, Harry was at Louis’ house every day, writing. At first he had worried that he was intruding and that Louis may think he was taking advantage, but when he didn’t come the fourth day, Louis’ texted to ask him why he wasn’t there and then told him to bring his ass over.

Not every day was as productive as that first; some days they would sit and chat or Louis would be in a mischievous mood and on a mission to distract Harry, who put up absolutely no fight whatsoever when this was the case. Sometimes they’d go up to the house and watch an episode of Friends or Gogglebox, tucked up close to one another with a cup of tea and some biscuits. There seemed to be very little physical barriers between them: when Harry was writing Louis would often rest his legs across his thighs, and one was always leaning across the other or touching at some point on their bodies.

On his last morning at Louis’, Harry arrived late, having had a flat tyre. He had ended up taking the tube and was a little frazzled from the morning’s kerfuffle.

“Well, hello there Harold! Nice of you to show up,” Louis grinned as he opened the front door, “What on earth have you done to your hair, curly?” he asked as he led Harry inside. Harry took a peek in the hallway mirror and saw that his hair was in a state, curls completely unruly and sticking out all over the place. He lifted a hand to try and tame them a bit, but Louis gently took Harry’s hand and lowered it, chuckling.

“Nah, don’t change it, I like it,” he said softly, offering one of his crinkly-eyed smiles.

“Ugh, I look like I’ve been dragged backwards through a hedge,” Harry whined, still attempting futilely to tame the mop.

“Doesn’t matter, ‘s only me,” Louis answered, tracking the usual and now familiar path towards the music room with Harry following behind, still pouting. “And besides, it looks lovely. Your hair is always curly and always lovely.”

Harry felt a funny little jump in his belly, confused by what Louis had just said, but Louis had his back to him, and Harry was unable to see his facial expression. Harry followed him inside and took his usual seat on the couch, fishing in his shoulder bag for his notebook and music sheets.

“You think you’re ready for tomorrow?” Louis asked.

Harry nodded. He had pretty much finished all the tracks for the album and felt ready to go into the recording studio, which was just as well, considering that he would have to the very next day.

“It’s just tweaking, you know?” Harry said. “I still can’t get that bridge on that second verse of Only Angel how I originally wanted it, which is seriously stressing me out,” he continued, sighing.

"Is that the one that you wrote about Zayn?"

"Yeah," Harry confirmed.

And Louis, who was always so, so patient with Harry, so selfless and willing to help him out in whatever way he could, simply said: “Well let’s have a look at it then.”

Harry picked up the electric guitar that he had claimed as his favourite (Louis had drawn a silly scribbled drawing of a frog on it to demarcate it as Harry’s, although Harry refused to ever take it back with him.)

He began to strum, aware that it would sound nothing like the finished product without the bass and drums.

A curl kept falling in his eye and he glared at it angrily, trying to blow it away but it stayed stubbornly put.

“Hold on a sec,” Louis muttered, leaving the room.

He came back a second later with a silky scarf wound around his hands.

“What’s that for?” Harry asked confused.

“Just stop asking questions for a minute and come here,” Louis tutted.

Harry carefully placed the guitar back on the floor leaning against the sofa and stood up, moving to where Louis stood.

“Turn around.”

A shiver went down Harry’s spine at the sudden husky quietness of Louis’ voice.

He did as he was told.

He felt Louis’ fingers running through his hair, pulling it back, and couldn’t help the second involuntary shiver that seemed to reverberate though his entire body.

He could feel Louis tying the scarf like a headband around his hair, knotting it at the bottom with nimble fingers. Harry could feel the soft puff of Louis' breath against the nape of his neck. They were very, very close and Harry’s heart was pounding loudly in his ears.

“There, all done,” Louis murmured softly.

He turned Harry around so that they were face to face. They were standing impossibly close to one another, and Harry thought he could just reach out and cup Louis’ jaw in his-

And then Louis drew away, sitting back down on the sofa and gesturing for Harry to continue. Utterly confused by what had just happened and still a little dizzy and out of breath, Harry averted his eyes quickly. He was pretty sure that if Louis looked in his eyes at that moment, he would be able to tell exactly what Harry was thinking.

He picked the guitar back up again and resumed where he had stopped until he got to the verse that was giving him trouble and put the guitar back down, frustrated.

“Ugh, I know that that isn’t right,” he huffed, “But I don’t know what _is._ ”

“Hey, curly, don’t stress about it, okay?” Louis soothed, shifting closely and resting a comforting hand on Harry’s shoulder. Why was this happening again? Why was Louis so fucking close?

But then, thankfully, Louis dropped his hand and nodded to Harry’s notebook which was lying open in his lap.

“You say this is about Zayn, right?”

“Yeah,” Harry replied, “He dated this Victoria’s Secret model and they were very intense – until they broke up and everything went to shit.”

“Ok, so let’s figure out this lyric then.”

Harry and Louis worked for another two hours or so until Harry felt that the song was finally just right.

“I should go.”

Harry desperately wanted to stay. Wanted Louis to want him to stay.

“Yeah, I guess.”

Harry didn’t move.

Louis was looking at him with a burning look in his eyes, his gaze intense.

And in that moment, Harry forgot all the reasons why he absolutely should not be doing this and shifted forward into Louis' space.

Louis’ pupils were huge, rimmed with only the thinnest line of blue and his gaze darted down to Harry’s lips and up again, green eyes meeting blue.

Growing in boldness, Harry reached out a hand to cup Louis’ jaw, his thumb running gently along his cheekbones. Louis didn’t pull away and so Harry leaned forward and pressed his lips gently to Louis’. There was the slightest pause as Harry drew back slightly, checking if this was still ok, and then Louis pressed his lips back on Harry's, firmer and more persistent this time. Harry made a high whining noise in the back of his throat as Louis wound his hand in Harry’s hair, tugging slightly. Louis tongue probed the seam of Harry’s lips, and Harry opened immediately for him, revelling in the slick slide of their tongues competing for dominance.

And then, suddenly, it was gone. The pressure of Louis lips, his heady smell of cologne and tobacco, the hand on Harry’s waist and the one in his hair - all of it gone.

Harry opened his eyes, confused, and when he saw Louis’ expression his blood ran cold. Louis was staring, horrified, a hand brought up to cover his mouth.

“Fuck,” he swore, dropping his head into his hands. “ _Fuck._ Shit.”

“I-” Harry made to say something, anything to break the sudden tension.

Louis slowly lifted his head from his hands, a look of heavy guilt painting his features.

“I can’t believe - I shouldn’t have done that, I’m sorry Harry.”

“Wait- what?”

Had he completely misread the signs? Was Louis not into him at all? Did he have a secret boyfriend that Harry didn’t know about? _Of course_ , Harry thought bitterly, how fucking naïve he had been; Louis probably did have a boyfriend, but why should _Harry_ know of all people. Just because they had been writing together and had hung out with their friends a few time didn’t mean that they were close enough for Louis to have told him anything….

“Er, right.” Harry muttered awkwardly, getting to his feet and slinging his bag over his shoulder. “I’ll just…er…go…then, I guess?”

“Yeah, you should.”

Louis didn’t look up, so Harry brushed past him, hot angry tears prickling his eyes as he fled the room.

He didn’t let himself think about anything in the car ride home out of the fear that if he did, he would break down and be unable to drive. The second he had made it into the warmth of his flat he collapsed on the sofa, his body heaving with sobs.

“Harry?” Zayn’s concerned voice called from nearby, “Fuck, _Harry_!”

Zayn sunk onto the sofa beside Harry pulling him in close and holding as Harry continued to cry uncontrollably.

He was at a loss for what he had done wrong. If Louis wasn’t into him, that was one thing, but the way he had seemed so angry, so guilty? Oh god, Harry panicked, had he forced Louis into it? But no, he thought, trying to remain even a little rational, he knew he hadn’t done that. So what the fuck?

His mind was whirring with unconstrained thoughts, and Harry could barely breathe. If it weren’t for Zayn, holding him and stroking his hair, he would definitely have had another panic attack.

When he had finally regained his composure, he looked up at Zayn, wiping tears from under his eyes with his thumbs.

“I’m sorry, Z, I don’t know what’s gotten into me, why I’m so fucking emotional.”

And it was true, he had no idea. He had been rejected before, so he wasn’t sure why this one had stung so much. Maybe it was because of the look of horror on Louis’ face that made Harry's stomach churn with guilt. Or maybe, it was because Harry had began to fall for Louis against his own will and so the rejection had stung that much more.

“Hey, hey, _shhh_ H, don’t be sorry, there’s nothing to be sorry about.”

They were quiet for a while, Harry regaining his breath and sniffling occasionally, Zayn with his arms still wrapped around Harry.

“Louis?” Zayn eventually asked. There was no judgement in his voice, but a raw sadness.

Harry nodded.

Zayn didn’t say “I told you so”, but just got up to put the kettle on and fished out a cheesy film from Harry’s collection.

When they were about halfway through the movie, their tea long gone cold, Harry finally spoke.

“I thought he felt the same,” he mumbled in the quietest of voices.

“I know. I thought so too.”


	3. Tuesday Night, Glazed-Over Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some adorable Ziam moments, a bit of plot development, a bit of filler, there's a bit of everything in this.
> 
> Sorry this is taking so long for me to update but I've had a ridiculous amount of deadlines lately.
> 
> I promise some Larry drama and angst is coming sooooon.  
> Please enjoy and leave comments/kudos if you liked it  
> Lots of love  
> P  
> x

_I'll close my eyes, then I won't see_ __  
The love you don't feel when you're holding me  
Morning will come and I'll do what's right  
Just give me till then to give up this fight

_I can’t make you love me_

_Bonnie Raitt_

Throughout the next two weeks of recording, Harry hadn’t spoken to Louis even once. Not that he had had any choice; Louis hadn’t texted or called, and had apparently not said anything to Liam or Niall. Any information he had received was obtained through Zayn, who had been spending a lot of time with Liam recently. Niall had been texting Harry regularly, saying they should meet up, and that they missed him and his cooking at their group hangouts. They had hung out as a fivesome four times in the two weeks since the party and they had all grown fond of each other. But after the fiasco in the music room, Harry couldn’t face being in the same room as Louis, even if it was with the other three lads there as a buffer. He needed some time to retreat with dignity to lick his wounds. After a while, he thought, he’d get over the rejection and they would laugh about it and be friends, he could be in the same as Louis without feeling the sting of rejection in every look; but for now, the wounds were far too fresh.

Recording had gone surprisingly well and both he and his producer had been pleased with all his tracks. They had decided on a release date a month from now, so that they had time for a little promotion and could fit in another session here and there if they needed to tweak anything. Harry was trying to be positive about it, trying to remember that this was what he had been working towards for practically ages, but the look of horror on Louis’ face after the kiss kept replaying in his brain, over and over.

After two long and emotionally draining weeks, filled with late nights and early starts, Harry finally arrived home on Friday, ready to collapse on the sofa in front of some crappy TV with a good strong cup of tea and just completely veg out.

He was halfway through a re-run of a Friends episode when he heard the front door open and Zayn’s familiar footsteps in the hall. They were not alone, however.

“Liam?” Harry asked in confusion, getting to his feet.

“Hiya Harry! It’s been a while.” Liam said, not unkindly, pulling Harry into a hug.

“Yeah I’ve been-”

“Moping around the house like a moody teenager?” Zayn finished for him, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, like _you_ have a leg to stand on, Zayn” Harry snapped, somewhat annoyed at being ratted out by his friend.

Liam, however, the polite and conflict-averse man as he always was, did not question Harry about it, for which Harry was immensely grateful.

“Whatcha been up to, Li?” Harry asked.

“One of Zayn’s designer friends wanted to meet me, so we all went to lunch. He’s agreed to design some of our red carpet looks and stuff for our upcoming promo season,” he replied enthusiastically, his eyes bright.

Liam was like a puppy; it was practically impossible to be miserable around him.

“That’s fantastic, Liam,” Harry said, genuinely pleased for him, “But is there any specific reason why you’re _here,_ exactly?”

“Yep,” cut in Zayn, dumping his bag on the kitchen counter and slumping into a seat, “Niall is hosting a party at his place tonight and we’re invited - _we_ as in _you_ included,” he added for clarification. Harry made to cut in, but Zayn held up a hand, knowing exactly what he was going to say.

“No objections, H. You’ve been doing nothing but recording these last two weeks and you need a break, and what’s more, Niall is going to tear me limb from limb if I don’t get you to come.”

“I mean, that’s a _bit_ of an exaggeration, no?” Harry couldn’t help grinning.

“Only slightly,” answered Zayn, the corner of his lip turning up with the hint of a smile, clearly pleased that he had been able to cheer Harry up, if only a little bit.

“And,” he continued, “Before you ask, _obviously_ Louis will be there but Harry, you’re going to have to sort this out, ok?”

Liam nodded sagely, “You’re going to have to figure out how to be friends eventually.”

Ah, so it appeared that Liam had already been filled in on the situation. Fantastic.

“I don’t see why I should,” Harry grumbled a little petulantly.

“Well I do,” Zayn replied.

“What do you mean?”

“Liam and I are dating,” he stated matter of factly, as though he were simply commenting on the weather, “And I would appreciate it if my best mate could get along with my boyfriend and his mates.”

“You – what – _Zayn_!” Harry yelled, launching himself at Zayn and hugging him tightly, then hugging a bemused Liam and finally giving Zayn another hug for good measure.

“All right, all right, that’s _quite_ enough,” Zayn pushed Harry off him, but he was grinning. Liam wound his arm around Zayn’s waist, pulling him closer and pressing a light peck to his cheek.

“Awwwww!” cooed Harry, “You _guyyyyyys_!”

Zayn rolled his eyes, but he seemed completely unable to wipe the grin of his face.

“But wait, I’m confused, I thought Liam had a girlfriend?!”

“Yeah…about that…” Liam pinched Zayn’s side which earned him an eye-roll and an affectionate swat.

Liam directed his attention back on Harry. “If Zayn had actually asked instead of just assuming…”

“Oh shut up,” Zayn chided affectionately.

“Uh… little lost here guys…” Harry snickered, glancing in amusement between the pair. They were already bickering like an old married couple.

“Right, so, Zayn didn’t bother to ask whether Sophia was a beard…”

“Well in my defence, you _did_ say you loved her…”

Ok, Harry was _definitely_ lost now.

“ _Basically_ ,” continued Liam, taking pity on Harry, “Sophia is my best friend from childhood, and when I was talking to Zayn about her, yes, I _did_ say that I loved her, which, in my defence I _do_ , but only as my best and oldest childhood friend.”

“A fact which he conveniently failed to mention,” Zayn grumbled.

Liam just rubbed his hand soothingly up and down Zayn’s side, and dropped his head down into the crook his neck.

“Seriously though, I’m really happy for you two.”

“So, is that a yes, then?” Liam asked slyly.

“A yes to what?”

“To the party, you knob.”

“Well not if you call me a knob,” Harry pouted sulkily.

“All right then, your Highness.”

“Better” Harry grinned, “And yeah I’ll go, I guess.”

“Good,” said Zayn, “Best hurry up then because we’ll be leaving in twenty.”

“W-what?” Harry squeaked and darted off to try and make himself somewhat presentable in the extremely limited time he had available. Twenty minutes later, the three men piled into Liam’s car. Zayn sat in the front so that he could hold hands with Liam over the gear shift – and control the music, the sly bastard – and Harry couldn’t help feeling a twinge of jealousy at the display of affection. He so wanted something like that, he wanted to experience again that heady sensation where you only feel like you’re breathing properly when you’re touching the one you love, when you can’t keep your eyes or your hands off each other. He sighed and sat back, settling in for what he was sure would be an awkward night.

When the three of them arrived, the party was already in full swing. From what little Harry could make out through the flashing lights, disco ball and packed dance-floor, Niall’s house was equally as enormous as Louis’ but entirely differently decorated – very neo-modern and simple. It suited him.

Liam and Zayn disappeared off into the throng of people to dance and Harry was left standing by himself until he spotted Niall pouring himself a drink in the corner. He “sorry”ed and “excuse-me”d his way across the floor until he reached him, Niall immediately beaming on catching sight of Harry.

“Harry! You came!” He pulled Harry into a crushing hug and refused to let go until Harry tickled him. He supposed this was Niall’s form of revenge for falling off the map for two weeks.

“Help yerself to drinks, we got everything!” Niall called out, winking as a petite blonde girl pulled him away towards the dancefloor.

Aaaaand… Harry was by himself again. _Great._

He kept looking furtively around, both checking to see where Louis was so that they wouldn’t cross paths and trying to scout for anyone he might know.

“Lost someone?” came an unfamiliar voice. American, Harry thought. He turned to see a pretty girl with long dark hair that he somewhat recognized, although from where, he had no clue. Harry would have loved to know who had designed her gorgeous maroon velvet jumpsuit.

“I’ll let you in on a secret,” she whispered conspiratorially, “It’s from topshop, not Gucci.”

Ah, so, once again, Harry had said that last part out loud.

“It’s gorgeous,” Harry commented, “uh….”

“Kendall,” the girl supplied. “I know who you are of course, Mr Harry Styles.”

“Oh,” Harry said uneasily.

Kendall let out a cackling laugh.

“Relax, Jesus, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she grinned, “I’m not some crazy stalker, so don’t stress.”

“Then how do you know me?” Harry asked, still confused. Had he met this girl and simply forgotten? That didn’t sound like him at all.

She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Because you’re a gay icon of course.”

“Uhm…I am? I wasn’t aware of that… To be honest I didn’t think many people know who I am in the first place,” he shrugged.

“Yeah, but among those of us celebs who belong to the in-the-closet club, you’re quite the legend. You came out onto the scene, completely open about your sexuality before you even started your career as though it was nothing, not to mention,” she gestured approvingly to the sheer black and gold blouse Harry wore tonight, “Your impeccable fashion choices.”

“Oh, well, uhm thank you?”

She gave another bold laugh. “You’re welcome. Now, who is it you’re trying to avoid?” she asked.

“How did you know?” Harry asked, frowning.

“Ah Styles, you are a _little_ bit obvious I’m not going to lie,” Her eyes twinkled with well-intentioned mirth, “It’s ok though, I’m also avoiding someone so we can be miserable and bitter together, if you’d like.”

Harry laughed. It felt so good to laugh again.

“I’ll tell you if you tell me,” Harry compromised.

“What are we, in primary school?” the girl teased, but she was smiling kindly.

“My ex-girlfriend I’m afraid. I didn’t know she was even in the UK, but I caught a glance at her when I came in,” she sighed. “How about you? An ex?”

“Not exactly…” Harry exhaled heavily. He supposed there would be little harm in telling her; she seemed funny and down to earth and she had, after all, trusted him enough to come out to him within the first minute of their meeting, so he figured he kind of owed it to her.

“He’s…. I think I’ve fallen for him, but he doesn’t want a relationship…. doesn’t want _anything_ actually.”

“Ah, unrequited love,” Kendall nodded sagely, “I know the feeling.”

“It’s just so frustrating you know? I thought I was getting all the signals and then…” he shrugged his shoulders in a hopeless gesture, “Now we’re not even friends.”

“That sucks, I’m sorry,” she consoled him, topping up Harry’s glass and then her own. “I would offer to dance with you to make him jealous, but unfortunately every man and his dog know we’re both about as straight as your hair,” she shrugged, downing the rest of her drink.

Harry chuckled. She was definitely a good egg, this one.

“Well that doesn’t mean we can’t dance,” Harry said, decidedly, “It’s a party, and I’d like to have a bit of fun instead of sulking in the corner.”

Kendall grinned and extended a hand to Harry, pulling him onto the dancefloor and shimmying her shoulders exaggeratedly. Harry grinned holding his arms up in the air, and went into full on dad-dance mode, wiggling his hips and marching around like an idiot. They were both cackling with laughter, dancing with great gusto, each trying to outdo the other with the ridiculousness of their moves. Harry finally felt a semblance of happiness for the first time in two weeks, could finally feel the heavy Louis-shaped weight on his chest easing. He made a mental note to thank Liam and Zayn later for dragging him here against his will.

When _Single Ladies_ came on, they both simultaneously caught each other’s eyes and screamed, and proceeded to go full Beyoncé: gestures, dance moves, lyrics and all.

It had been at least an hour and a half if not longer, and Harry was having a great time, feeling almost as if he hadn’t had his hopes shattered just two weeks ago. They were both sweaty, and Kendall had removed her towering stilettos, opting to dance barefoot instead.

Harry needed a bit of a break.

“I’m going to get a drink and sit out for a while,” he told her.

She nodded, smiled and continued wiggling her hips to _Let’s Get Loud_ as Harry made his way through the dwindling crowd and towards the kitchen.

Harry poured himself vodka and tonic in equal measure and leant back against the counter, relieving himself of some of the pressure that had built up in his feet from dancing for so long.

“ _Harooooold_ ,” came a slurred voice. Harry looked up and was greeted with a familiar face.

“Howsss it going, Haroooold?” Louis asked, swaying precariously on his feet, as though a single touch could bowl him over. His eyes were red and glazed over, his hair sticking up in all directions and he had his shirt completely unbuttoned. Harry forced himself not to let his eyes linger on the smooth caramel expanse of skin peeking out from under the shirt. Louis was clearly plastered.

“Are you alright, Louis?” Harry asked, a little stiffly, as Louis staggered towards the counter where Harry stood, reaching for a bottle of gin.

“I think you may have had enough already, Louis,” Harry sighed, guiding Louis’ hand away from the bottles, and trying to steady him a little with a guiding hand on his shoulder.

“But _Harryyyy,”_ Louis whined, pouting.

He made to take a seat on one of the chairs by the counter but miscalculated completely, landing with a yelp in a crumpled heap on the floor. Worried now, Harry crouched down beside him and found that Louis’ hands were clammy, his face dazed and very pale.

 _Shit,_ Harry thought, this was worse than he had thought.

“Hey, Louis,” he murmured softly, kinder now. “Do you have anyone who can drive you home?”

Louis mumbled something completely incoherent.

Harry sighed again. He wasn’t sure what to do here. He couldn’t get much out of Louis at this point, and he couldn’t see Liam or Zayn anywhere.

Making a decision, Harry bent down to haul Louis to his feet.

“We’re going to go and let you lie down, okay?” Harry said, placing a steadying hand on his lower back. Louis just nodded vaguely.

Harry hadn’t been to Niall’s house before, but he figured if he could get Louis up the stairs, he would surely be able to find an empty bedroom for him to lie down in and that would be half the battle won. Sure enough, the first door on the landing led into what seemed to be a guest room. Louis was resting almost all of his weight on Harry now, and he was finding it very difficult to keep them moving. He eventually managed to get Louis down on the bed, propping enough pillows under his neck so that he wouldn’t be lying completely flat. He left him there and went in search of a bathroom to get Louis a glass of water.

When he had located a glass of water, he came back into the room and saw that Louis had already passed out, exactly where Harry had left him, Still worried about the utter state he had been in, Harry decided to stay and keep watch over Louis for a little while to make sure nothing happened.

He pulled a blanket up to Louis’ chin and made to lie down beside him on the vast King size bed. Louis looked so small and innocent like this, his sweaty fringe pushed to one side and his eyes closed, his sinfully long eyelashes fanned over his cheeks. Harry so wanted to press a kiss to Louis’ furrowed brow, to kiss away whatever worries hounded him, even in sleep. Instead, he lay back, staring at the ceiling, mulling over the evening’s events and promising himself he would stay only an hour or so, just to make sure that Louis was alright. He hadn’t seen someone _that_ drunk in a long time. He wondered if Louis had just been letting loose, living up to his popstar image, or if there had actually been something seriously bothering him that night. This was the last thought that crossed his mind before he drifted to sleep.

When Harry woke, his neck and back felt stiff and he didn’t feel rested at all. He looked around him, confused for a moment as to where he was, and then remembered the events of the night before. He hadn’t drunk much, so mercifully he had no hangover to speak of, but he was thirsty and needed the loo, so he pushed himself up off the bed. Louis still lay exactly where he had fallen asleep the night before as if no time had passed whatsoever, but Harry’s phone showed 8:14 am, which meant that Harry had slept there for just under seven hours. In the guest bathroom opposite, Harry blearily rubbed the sleep from his eyes, cupping his hands beneath the tap and splashing his face in the hopes of waking up a little. He caught sight of his reflection in the sparkling mirror above the sink and did a double take. His curls were askew and, despite the seven hours of sleep – more than what he usually was able to get these days – he looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks. He opened the bathroom cabinet behind the mirror, hoping that Niall wouldn’t mind. When he found what he was looking for, he returned to the room where he had left Louis and quietly made his way up to the bed-side table, leaving the aspirin there for when he awoke.

When Harry finally arrived home, exhausted and in the need of a good breakfast and some crappy TV, he collapsed onto the settee with an _oompf_ and took out his phone to check it for the first time since last night. He had three missed calls from Zayn and a whatsapp request from Kendall, but nothing else.

He picked up the remote, flicking through the channels and landing on some old bake-off reruns, just for something mindless background noise and lay back, closing his eyes tiredly.

He had definitely not meant to fall asleep again, but when he awoke to someone shaking him and a familiar voice asking, “Harry, you alright?” it appeared that he had indeed sunk once again into slumber.

“You never answered my calls,” Zayn chastised accusingly as he and Liam sat down opposite Harry, Zayn’s hand immediately winding around Liam’s waist.

“Give him a break love,” murmured Liam softly, pressing a soothing kiss to his temple, “He’s safe now.”

Zayn was still glaring at Harry but seemed placated for the time being.

“Where did you get to last night?” he asked, still a bit of accusation in his tone. His featured softened infinitesimally, “We were worried when you weren’t here and weren’t answering any of our calls.”

“Jesus, Z, what if I had gone home with someone, huh? What then? I can take care of myself you know,” he grumbled.

“Did you-?” Asked Zayn and Liam in synchrony.

“NO!” Harry cut them off, irritated. “Not that it is _any_ of your business, you nosy twats, but _no,_ I did not go home with anyone.”

“I mean, we didn’t _think_ so,” Liam mused, nodding his head.

Harry was more than a little annoyed. Firstly, where did the two of them get off, treating him like a child? And second, was him pulling _so_ far out of the realm of possibility that they were worried that he had got himself abducted or something before they would guess he had gone home with someone?

 _Although…_ Harry admitted to himself, it had been so, so long. Harry was very much a relationship guy, flitting from one to the next, seeing connection and dedication. He had had only one one-night-stand in his life so far.

“So, where were you then?”

Harry sighed. “With Louis.’

Zayn and Liam exchanged a knowing look, Zayn raising his eyebrow slightly.

“Again,” Harry heaved another put-upon sigh, “It’s not what you think.” Though, _God,_ how he wishes it were. “He was absolutely shit-faced last night and there was no one there to help out. I wasn’t going to leave him to choke on his own vomit or summat, God forbid.”

Zayn wrinkled his nose in disgust, but Liam just nodded, not quite meeting Harry’s eye, and getting up off the sofa to switch the kettle on for some tea.

“Well, seeing as you two seem to have at least somewhat sorted out your shit, what do you think of coming back to ours for dinner this evening.” _Ours,_ Harry thought, they had been dating for barely two weeks and they were already calling Liam’s house _ours._ Usually this kind of thing would irk him, but all Harry felt was endeared and a bittersweet pang of jealously.

Liam paused a moment, hesitating, and continued: “The boys will be there as well. Niall, Louis and our drummer, Josh. We need to tell them about…” Liam gestured from himself to Zayn.

“Wait so they don’t already know?” Harry asked, surprised.

“Nah, Zaynie wanted to check with you before going ahead,” Liam smiled fondly at Zayn. To an outsider, this may have sounded weird and possessive, but for Harry and Zayn this was par for the course. They had always been incredibly close, had always been each other’s sounding board for every important decision. Thicker than blood.

To be honest, Harry was somewhat surprised that the others didn’t already know, considering how all over each other Liam and Zayn were – around him at least - but he supposed that they had toned it down for the party, aware of the possibility of unwelcome eyes catching sight of them. Liam was the expert after all. While Zayn was out, Liam’s sexuality had to be kept under wraps at all costs, even amongst friends and acquaintances. Looking at the two of them together, Liam now perched on the backrest of the sofa his arms resting loosely around Zayn, Zayn with his one arm winded up behind him, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealously. But most of all he felt love. Zayn was his brother, and if anybody deserved a love story and a happy, it was him.

“Absolutely, I’ll be there,” he decided. “I’ll get started on an apple crumble,” he grinned, making his way towards the kitchen. He chose “Baking Playlist 3” on his phone, and hummed along, taking out the necessary ingredients, pleased to have something to do with his hands again.

When 7pm rolled around, Harry was freshly showered, his hair still damp and curling loosely around his shoulders. He was wearing a sky-blue blouse under his navy peacoat, black skinnies and his worn tan Chelsea boots, and carried a freshly baked apple crumble underneath one arm as he rang Liam’s doorbell. He and Zayn had gone back a few hours ago to set up, cook and god knows what else, Harry thought with an eyeroll _. Ah, young love,_ he thought to himself rather bitterly.

But it wasn’t Liam, nor Zayn who answered the door, but rather Louis - dressed in gray trackies, his hair soft and feathered across his forehead instead of styled in its usual quiff and a pair of reading glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. He smelt like shampoo and daisies and tobacco.

“Hi,” he said softly. There was no hint of resentment in his voice, no acknowledgment of the events of the night before, and the awkwardness one would usually expect after having had to reject someone wasn’t there either. He just seemed genuinely pleased to see Harry.

Harry smiled back at Louis and followed him indoors.

“I didn’t know you wore glasses.” Harry asked lightly.

“Yeah,” Louis mused, “Usually I don’t,” his nose wrinkled.

“I think they look good on you,” replied Harry before he could realize what he was saying. _Shit_ , he thought in horror. Did he sound like he was flirting? Oh god, he had been told nicely that Louis was not interested and now he had gone and stuck his foot in it _again_ and…

But Louis just smiled, again – a real, crinkly-eyed smile and walked wordlessly alongside Harry towards the kitchen, from where Harry could hear some music and Niall’s characteristic bellowing laugh.

Sure enough, there stood Niall and Liam&Zayn entwined in one another, Zayn gazing lovingly up at Liam, seemingly enraptured, as he spoke in his steady, patient tone. It appeared that they had already broken the news to the others before Harry’s arrival. Another man, tall and blonde, that Harry recognized only vaguely stood next to Niall, sipping delicately from a champagne flute.

“Harry!” Niall beamed, waving him over and tugging him into a crushing bear hug as though they hadn’t seen each other in years, rather than for just a few hours.

The blonde man introduced himself as Josh, the band’s drummer, and Harry immediately set into making polite conversation. He was a nice lad, Harry soon discovered, if a little boring. Louis stayed by Harry’s side, smiling when their eyes met and laughing at Harry’s admittedly (even by his standards) weak jokes.

When it came time for them to sit down to eat, Louis sat beside Harry. Not only was Harry somewhat confused by Louis’ apparent amnesia of their current situation, but he was also a little uncomfortable. He was worried Louis’ easy banter, his lovely smile, his jokes and the way he listened apparently captivated to Harry’s long and convoluted stories was pulling him right back in again, and he couldn’t have that, couldn’t go through that again when he knew that it was just Louis being Louis.

Liam had prepared a decent spread - Harry knew it must have been Liam because Zayn couldn’t cook to save his life – and the conversation was light and entertaining; nothing too intense. They had already had great fun grilling Zayn and Liam about how they got together and taken the piss out of them to their satisfaction. Like Harry, everyone seemed really happy for the two of them, both of whom were acting almost sickeningly coupley that evening; feeding each other little morsels of lasagne, unsubtly using only one hand to eat their dinner because the others were entwined beneath the table. Harry simultaneously loved it and hated it; loved it because he could see how radiant Zayn looked and he was happy to see his friend in such a good place, and hated it because – he would freely admit it – he couldn’t help feeling a bit jealous. He was _very_ aware of Louis by his side the whole night. From what Harry could pick up, it seemed that Louis just wanted to forget things and be friends again. In theory, Harry thought, this was perfect – exactly what he had told himself he wanted, but there was still a part of him that lost its concentration whenever Louis’ ocean blue eyes gazed into his own, still a part of him that froze when they made the slightest physical contact. He had to keep reminding himself not to get carried away, to remember that he had to focus on rebuilding their friendship - and it was beyond excruciating. Being so close, being able to smell and see and hear but not to touch, not to say what he really wanted to…

He shook his head, jolting himself back to the present. This was for the best, and he knew it. He would just have to pull himself together.

\----

This uneasy rekindling of their friendship characterized their interactions not just for the rest of the night, but also for the rest of the week. On returning home after Zayn and Liam’s dinner, Harry received a text from Louis, simply saying:

**Good 2 see you again 2nite, mate.**

This sent Harry into yet another spiral; bewildered by the contradiction of Louis calling him ‘mate’ and him actually texting unprompted Harry for seemingly no other reason than just to say hello. The friendship apparently back on track (well, in the eyes of Louis and the other boys at least), the five of them went back to hanging out together more often. It was hard, Harry thought, he wouldn’t deny that it was _unbelievably_ hard, to sit beside Louis as they watched a film or ate dinner or played FIFA and not to reach out for his touch, but it was manageable. It was also worth it, he thought. Having some form of Louis in his life was better than no Louis at all, and spending time with the five of them as a group was something he didn’t want to go back to not having again.

And so it went, for the next few weeks. The boys had just started tour rehearsals and Harry was doing some press interviews and finalizing his cover art for the album that was due for release soon. The five of them usually met up two or three times a week, one of those times would usually be a Sunday roast and another time would be at a party. Harry was decidedly _not_ a party animal, but given that Zayn was dragged along, he went for moral support and also for, well, other reasons.

That time that Louis got drunk at Niall’s party was, by far, not the last. In fact, it was the first of many. It seemed that every single time there was a party or they went out, Louis would get completely and utterly hammered. Not just the normal level of, “Had a few too many,” but usually to the point of complete incoherency and an inability to function whatsoever. Harry would usually end up taking him home or finding him somewhere to rest and look after him as best he could. Without exception, when Louis woke up in the mornings, Harry had left, and Louis always pretended that nothing whatsoever had happened. Nobody ever mentioned anything about it, so Harry decided it was best not to ask. He, Niall and Josh had become closer and had spent a few days, just the three of them songwriting. Harry’s friendship with Louis was in a good place too; he had finally stopped feeling like every hair was standing on end when Louis was closeby, or like his airways had closed up when they made contact. He still caught himself watching the blue-eyed golden boy far too often, but, hey, baby steps.

On the Wednesday morning after Harry had, once again, taken care of Louis, this time bringing him back to his and Zayn’s apartment because Louis couldn’t find his keys and they were in a very public place, Harry awoke on the sofa, his back tied up in knots and his neck aching. Louis had been especially bad the night before, shouting and picking fights and making a right idiot of himself, and Harry had acted quickly before any of his drunken antics could get into the tabloids. He stretched his arms out above his head, hearing each individual vertebra click and then checked his phone. 8am, plenty of time. His album would be released today at midday, and he had been told to send out a warning tweet a few hours before. Other than that, Harry had very few obligations for the day. He was just turning over to get back to sleep, when he heard the pad-pad of slippered feet coming towards him. He sat up regretfully to find Liam sitting on the opposite side of the massive settee, looking intently at him.

“Whad’ya want Liam? Its eaaaaarly,” Harry grumbled, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Louis slept here last night.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yeah…” Harry nodded, unsure of where this was going.

Liam seemed to hesitate a moment, and then nodded his head as though giving himself permission.

“Look Harry,” he began tentatively, “This thing with Louis… you need to be careful,”

“Liam, I’ve told you,” Harry sighed, “It’s not like that. I’m okay with it, being friends.”

Liam nodded, clearly unconvinced.

“Whatever you say, Harry. It’s not that though,” he shook his head, “Louis…you just need to be careful not to get to close.”

Harry’s mouth gaped open, taken aback by what Liam had just said.

“Err… no offence mate, but that’s not exactly what I’d expect to hear from a friend of his,” replied Harry tartly.

“No, Harry,” Liam sighed tiredly, as if he was trying to explain something simple to a toddler, “If you would just listen. Louis… he… he pushes people away and it’s for a good reason too. You’ve been looking after him every time he gets wasted these last few weeks, and sooner or later, the novelty will wear off and you’ll stop wanting to do that.”

“Excuse me, Liam,” Harry retorted, starting to get a bit angry now, but forcing himself to maintain a civil tone, “I’m not the kind of person to ditch someone when they need help, like some people,” he glared pointedly, “And so what? Louis’ got drunk a few times – he’s young, we all do it.”

“No Harry,” replied, and now his voice was muted, sad, “It’s not a few times. He’s been like this for almost two years now. It’s not just a few harmless drinks or a few night’s outs gone awry, he purposefully goes out of his way to get so wasted he can’t even remember his own name.

“But why would he-”

“I’m afraid that’s not really my story to tell Harry,” answered Liam, reaching out to pat him on the shoulder. “But look, from what I’ve got to know about you and from what I know from Zayn, you’re a good guy. You have a big heart and you're selfless, and honestly Harry - that worries me. I love Louis, he is one of my best mates, so I say this with all the love in my heart; don’t let him get under your skin, because he’ll end up dragging you down.”


	4. There's nothing that I wouldn't do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!  
> Things finally get moving in the Larry department and there'll be some !smut! in this one. yay!  
> Pray and Midnight Train are both songs off Sam Smith's album but I have Harry singing them here as they are kind of perfect for how I want this Harry's first album to be like.  
> Enjoy!  
> P  
> x

_They tell me think with my head, not that thing in my chest_ __  
They got their hands at my neck this time  
But you're the one that I want, if that's really so wrong  
Then they don't know what this feeling is like

_This feeling_

_Kelsea Ballerini & the Chainsmokers_

Wednesday was a hell of a day. As promised, Harry sent out a tweet around midday, just before his album was to be released. Both Niall and Louis had tweeted as well, and their hordes of fans seemed to have then flocked to download Harry’s music, because there was a massive upsurge in downloads. Libby had come around to Harry’s for lunch, so that they could monitor the release together. She was ecstatic, full of nothing but praise for Harry. He would have been flattered that his music was being downloaded at such a rate had he not known that it was only happening because of 1D fans. He tried to enjoy the success nevertheless, as after all, he reminded himself, for him the priority had always been the music itself anyway. So what if that was how people came to listen to it? Just so long as his music made people happy, then Harry was happy.

The adrenaline and dizzying excitement of the day that he had been waiting for for so long finally arriving had left Harry knackered. He knew Zayn was at Liam’s so thankfully he could have an early night’s sleep. He might watch a rom-com. Have a glass of wine. _Hmmm,_ he thought, _ideal._

Just as he had poured himself a glass of Rosé and settled down in front of the TV, his phone rang. He sighed and just considered ignoring it, but it was Zayn’s name flashing up on the screen, and Harry knew that Zayn only ever called if it was an emergency.

“Hey mate, what’s up?” Harry asked, pressing ‘accept.’

“We need you over here,” came Liam’s voice, “Zayn needs you.”

Harry immediately sprang into action. “I’ll be there in twenty, ok?”

“Perfect,” answered Liam and hung up.

When Harry arrived at Liam’s, wide-eyed and anxious, he was greeted at the door by a beaming Niall. Utterly bewildered, Harry looked around him, as though Zayn’s body would be lying on the floor in the passageway behind Niall or something. Niall said nothing, but just continued to smile wordlessly, leading an agitated Harry down the passageway and into the kitchen. There stood Libby, Liam, Zayn, Louis and Josh all beaming under a massive multicoloured ‘Congratulations!” sign, artfully decorated with little rainbows. 

“Congratulations on releasing your first album mate, I’m proud of you,” said Zayn warmly, stepping out of Liam’s hold to hug Harry.

“You bunch of dicks!” Harry yelped, although he didn’t mean it. He looked accusingly at Liam, “You had me seriously worried,” he sulked.

Liam just grinned serenely and said, “Well, Zayn said this would be the only way to get you to come. Said you’d be wanting to veg out in front of the TV with some wine.”

Touché, Harry thought, fair enough.

The room settled into a pleasant buzz of chatter, drinks were poured and there was the sound of what Harry recognized to be his own album playing softly in the background. He couldn’t believe how unbelievably lucky he was. He felt an incredible warmth spread up towards his fingertips, his heart so full he thought it might burst with love and gratitude. How lucky he was to have friends like these.

“You like it?” came a familiar melodic voice from behind Harry. He turned to see Louis, looking breathtaking as ever in a duck-egg blue t-shirt that dipped low, exposing his delicate collarbones and a pair of clinging white skinny jeans. His hair was soft and mussed again, and Harry thought that perhaps this was what angels looked like. He then realised how much of a ridiculous sap he was being and cleared his throat.

“What the party, the décor or the music?” Harry asked.

“I mean, everything,” Louis grinned, “Although I’m surprised you like the music. It’s by some random that no-one’s ever heard of. Not really my style,” Louis grinned devilishly, his eyes dancing with mirth.

Harry snorted and pushed Louis’ shoulder.

“Oh piss off,” he said, rolling his eyes, but with unconcealable fondness in his voice.

“Although,” he mused, “I don’t think I’ll be able to listen to that all night,” he admitted.

“Don’t worry,” Louis assured him, “It was only for the initial effect. We’ll be changing it once we sit down for dinner.”

The evening was spent well, drinking and eating the delicious food (that, Harry suspected, had been ordered and not cooked by Liam), chatting and laughing. Louis was on top form, cracking jokes and sharing ridiculous anecdotes and Zayn and Liam were at peak adorableness. Libby seemed to have taken an immediate liking to Niall and the two of them had been chatting non-stop for ages. When Josh had excused himself and Libby had declared herself knackered, Niall escorted her to the door (both Harry and Louis snorting behind their hands), the four of them started to clear up. Liam had protested that Harry shouldn’t be cleaning up after a party thrown in his honour, but Zayn seemed to know he was fighting a losing battle there, placing a placating hand on Liam’s forearm and saying: “He’s going to anyway, Li, just let him be.” While Zayn and Liam sorted the dishes in the kitchen, Harry and Louis busied themselves taking down the decorations and popping the balloons. Louis, ever the 25-year-old trapped in the body of a 5 year old, was darting around, aiming balloons at Harry’s head and shrieking with laughter. Harry tried not to let his fond show too much. After a while of comfortable silence, Louis’ voice asked timidly, “What’s wrong Harry?”

Harry was all ready to say _oh, nothing,_ but something in Louis clear, open eyes stopped him.

He sighed. “I’m going to sound ungrateful,” he began regretfully.

“Lay it on me,” Louis answered, unflinching.

“I really appreciate you and Niall tweeting today, you didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course we didn’t, but we _wanted_ to, silly.” Louis rolled his eyes, as though explaining something to a particularly dense toddler. His expression then changed infinitesimally. “But that’s not what you mean, is it.”

Harry was silent for a moment and then confessed all at once in a voice that was barely above a whisper: “I’mjustworriedthattheyonlydownloadedmymusicbecauseofyouandknowIwon’tknowwhethertheyevenlikeitornot.”

“Oh _Harry_ ,” Louis murmured, running a placating hand up his arm, his eyes soft and sympathetic. “You can’t _really_ think that.”

Harry just shrugged, a little embarrassed.

Louis sighed and took his phone out of his pocket, tapping a bit and then showing the screen to Harry. Harry scrolled, his eyes widening as he saw mention after mention.

**@KatieBear1**

I really wish @Harry_Styles music was around when I first came out... It's so beautiful, can't believe how accurately it relates to my own experience.

**@Lucy_Directioner**

Love @Harry_Styles album and love that the boys support him! Legends supporting legends! 

**@KennethRTravers91**

Not a fan of One Dimension but this @Harry_Styles music is f*cking awesome! Real piece of art

“One Dimension?” Harry giggled, and Louis grinned.

“Well they can’t all be wins,” he shrugged. “But you see, it doesn’t matter _how_ they found it, these people connected to your music. And even if they _did_ listen because they’re fans of us, I trust them, they have good taste,” he grinned cheekily.

Harry was still chuckling but he was honestly and truly touched.

“Thank you, Louis,” he said sincerely, “Really.”

“It’s really no trouble at all,” Louis replied, clearing his throat a little awkwardly. They were really rather close now. Harry could feel his pulse racing in his throat and could hear Louis swallow in the thick silence.

“Are there any more plates that need to come to the kitch-oh” interrupted Liam’s voice. The two of them sprang back as if they had been burned.

“No, no, Li, everything’s in,” Louis replied, regaining his composure in a split second.

And the moment was broken.

When they had finished clearing up, Harry thanked them all again for the party and insisted he head home, looking forward to the pillowy embrace of his bed.

\------

Harry was jumpy. He had performed plenty of times before, but this time felt different: he would be singing 5 songs of his own music from an album he had only just released a week before. He felt jittery, his hands clammy and his pulse racing. His mouth felt dry and he was worried he was going to be sick.

Suddenly, he felt a warm hand grip his waist from behind. Harry turned to find Louis, dressed in a hoodie with the hood drawn to shade his face, smiling at him encouragingly.

“How did you get back here?” Harry asked.

“Being rich and famous has its benefits I suppose,” shrugged Louis, earning him a weak smile and a half-hearted swat. “Hey,” he chided, stilling Harry’s hands to stop him from tugging at the ruffled sleeves of his lilac blouse. “There’s not many buttons done up on that shirt,” he teased.

When Harry didn’t laugh but continued bouncing and jittering nervously, he lowered his voice and asked: “Seriously though, are you alright Harry?” he asked, his tone sincere now.

Harry nodded unconvincingly, rocking backwards and forwards on the heels of his feet.

“ _Harry_ ,” murmured Louis, bringing Harry’s hand away from his mouth gently but firmly. He hadn’t even realized that he had been biting his nails.

“Hey, look at me.”

Harry looked down at Louis’ eyes – a steady and unwavering blue - and felt a wave of comfort pass over him.

“You’ve got this, yeah?” Louis continued, still so softly, “You know people love your stuff and you’ve done this plenty of times before.”

Harry nodded. He felt a bit calmer now.

“Ok, lad, go out and smash it, yeah? I’d better get back to the audience.” Louis smiled encouragingly, gave Harry a last encouraging pat on the forearm and darted away, keeping his face covered and avoiding eye contact.

_“And that was the incredible Hozier everybody!”_ Applause and shouts reached Harry where he stood at the side of the stage with his guitar. This was it, he thought.

“And now please welcome, a fresh new face on the scene, the one and only _Harry Styles_!!!”

Harry strode out onto stage, taking care not to trip and leaning his guitar against the ledge of the bandstand as he wouldn’t be needing it for his first few songs. He nervously gave the thumbs up to the band and turned to face the crowd, exhaling one last deep breath.

And with the first few electric chords and the thrum of the bass, a spike of adrenaline shot up Harry’s spine and he brought the microphone up to his lips.

_My mother told me I should go and get some therapy_ __  
I asked the doctor, "can you find out what is wrong with me?  
I don't know why I wanna be with every boy I meet

Harry had begun writing this song back when he had first started to understand his sexuality and what it could mean for himself and other people. For him, it was a song about power and about victory; about the choice to be who you are because that’s what it meant to truly be alive. Harry channelled this as he sang the first verse, his nerves slipping away and his voice growing bolder with each line he sung.

As he went into the chorus, he just let go, punching the air and strutting towards the side of the stage, tossing his hair and dancing to the beat of the music.

_She said, "hey, it's alright_ _  
If it makes you feel aliiiiiiiiiive"_

The crowd was deafening as he finished the song, his eyes bright with adrenaline, his fists held high, as though in victory.

His set went unbelievably well, his nerves apparently a thing of the past. He rocked and shimmied and wiggled his way through _Alive, Only Angel_ and _Carolina_ (a song he had written about his only ever one-night stand), and then slowed the pace and strummed his acoustic guitar for the last two ballads. During _Pray,_ you could hear a pin drop in the audience and _Midnight Train_ had the crowd swaying in time with the lilting melody.

When it came time for Harry to take his final bow, he felt ecstatic, unbelievably high on the energy of the music and the crowd. He knew that that evening he would be emotionally exhausted but for now, he was still buzzing with uncontainable energy. He made his way back to his dressing room to shower and get changed for the after party which would be taking place at a private event hall just a few streets over, changing out his sweaty ruffled lilac blouse for a black one and his diamante encrusted boots for his plain ones and trying to tame the tangle of curls that had just become even more unmanageable from prancing around on stage. It was supposed to be a classy event so he left only his top two buttons undone, hiding the butterfly behind a veil of black satin.

\-----

**Where are you mate? Nialler, Louis, Li, Libby and I**

**are just by the entrance to the loos. Come find us. Z**

_Just arrived now. See you in 5._

Harry made his way through the crowd, trying his best not to jostle and push. He was stopped every few minutes by someone congratulating him or shaking his hand and so by the time he finally reached the boys, another ten minutes had passed.

Niall stood suspiciously close to Libby, but Harry was so ecstatic he didn’t even care. The two of them crowded Harry for a hug, both of them shouting congratulations that were lost in the din. Zayn grinned at Harry and ruffled his hair, murmuring “Knew you could do it,” fondly in his ear. Harry beamed around at his friends and noticed that two of them were missing. “Where are Liam and Louis?” he asked, looking around.

“Just gone to get us more drinks,” Niall shouted, “Dance?” he asked Libby, raising an eyebrow in what Harry assumed he thought was a flirtatious and appealing manner. Snorting, Harry turned to find Louis, also snickering, who handed him a fruity pink drink with a little umbrella. He grinned and raised his own electric blue concoction in salute. Harry couldn’t help noticing that it was almost the exact colour of Louis’ eyes.

“Well done, Rockstar,” Louis grinned. Harry grinned back, still dazed at everything that had happened.

A disgruntled (though secretly rather pleased, Harry thought) Libby caught his arm before she was whisked away by Niall. “Please mingle, Harry,” she called as she disappeared into the crowd of dancing bodies. Harry looked at Zayn who nodded, gesturing for Harry to go, just as a friend of Louis and Liam’s arrived and starting talking to them.

Harry decided to stand by the bar in the hopes that it would be somewhat less claustrophobic and that he wouldn’t have to actively go up to people. As he downed the last dregs of his cocktail, a curly dark head bobbed through the crowd towards him. Harry vaguely recognized the man that stood before him, but from where, he once again had no idea.

“Hi,” the man said, a little nervously. Cute, Harry thought. “I’m Timothée,” he smiled tentatively, “Your set was amazing tonight.”

Timothée. Now Harry remembered where he had seen him; he had acted in a few of the films Harry had seen last year. “Thank you,” he replied, a little shyly.

The two of them got to talking and Timothée turned out to be a fascinating lad with many stories to tell and before he knew it, Harry was on his third drink and laughing uproariously with him, and he was not-so-subtly touching Harry’s forearm. Emboldened and feeling a sort of indescribable fizz at someone showing interest for the first time in ages, Harry asked: “Would you, err, like to dance maybe?”

Timothée beamed and held out his hand to lead Harry onto the dance floor. It was, as Harry had been warned, a classy affair, which meant that couples were swaying as opposed to grinding. Made a nice change, Harry thought, from the sweaty and sticky dancefloors of clubs and the heavy smoke and thumping bass of house parties. Harry placed rested his hands on Timothée’s waist, and Timothée’s arms winded up around Harry’s neck as they swayed, uncoordinated, from side to side. Harry could feel a pleasant blush spread across his cheeks. He hadn’t danced like this with a cute boy in god knows how long, and it felt so incredibly lovely. Harry wondered how it might be like to kiss him… so he leant down and pressed a soft peck to his lips. Timothée’s eyes glistened and he wound his arms tighter around Harry’s neck.

Before he knew it, another song had gone by and Harry realized that he had completely ditched his friends for well over an hour now, his friends who had come to support him at his gig. “I should probably go and find my friends,” Harry said regretfully, and didn’t miss the twinge of disappointment on Timothées face. “Maybe you could, uh, put your number in?” Harry mumbled, handing over his phone. Timothée nodded eagerly and imputed his digits with a smile.

Harry ducked out apologetically, and with one last wave headed out to look for his friends. They were surprisingly easy to find. Liam and Zayn were standing almost a foot apart, by the bar, clearly on full alert not to look like a couple. Niall and Libby stood closer, Niall apparently whispering things in her ear that made her blush and giggle in a way that Harry hadn’t seen since she was about 16. Louis was nowhere to be found though. “Harry!” Niall beamed, as he noticed him. “Been having a good time?” he asked, his eyes glittering with mirth.

“Oh shut up, Niall” Harry said, abashed. Seeing that his friends were still clearly fine and getting along just fine on their own, Harry excused himself and headed to the bathroom. He had been drinking all night and hadn’t yet been to the loo.

As he came out of the bathroom, he almost missed the small, compact figure of a man, dressed simply in a black t-shirt and skinnies leaning against a wall and glaring directly at him.

“Louis?”

Louis snorted derisively, his eyes cold, arms crossed firmly across his chest.

“Surfaced then, have you?” he sneered.

“I-what?” Harry wondered if Louis had gotten drunk again and felt a twinge of guilt for not being around to watch him. But no, he seemed relatively stable and coherent for a change.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

Louis gave another snort and leered, “You and that Chalamet bloke,” he spat, “You could have at least been less blatant about it.”

Confused and starting to feel the beginnings of anger coiling in his chest, Harry stood up straighter, “Unless you had forgotten, Louis, _I_ happen to be out, so I can be as _blatant_ as I bloody well like,” he sniffed. Louis continued to glower up at Harry, his expression unchanging.

“You were all over him,” he sneered, “Please, leave something to the imagination, why don’t you?”

“Oh yeah?” Harry asked, his tone dangerously quiet now. He took a step closer so that he was directly in Louis’ space, “Are you sure that’s what the problem is?” he asked calmly, one eyebrow cocked. They were impossibly close and Harry could practically see the speckles of gold in Louis’ cobalt blue irises, could track his pupils as they expanded. “Because, that’s not what it looks like to me,” he said, his voice barely a whisper now.

Louis blinked and took a few hasty steps back, snarling, “Just stay away from him, won’t you?”

“No,” Harry answered, feeling his calm beginning slip, “No, Louis, you don’t get to dictate what I do and who I talk to. You don’t get to reject me and then not let me be with anyone else, that’s not how this works. If you-“

But the end of his sentence was swallowed by Louis’ lips crashing onto his own, urgently, _desperately_ , propelled by fire and anger and so, _so_ much more. Harry’s hands immediately found their place on Louis’ waist, Louis hands tangling in Harry’s hair, pulling enough for a shiver of pleasure to run down his spine and for him to feel his cock begin to fill up with blood. Louis’ tongue was searching, seeking, mixing with Harry’s own, little whimpers falling from his lips. And then he was gone.

When Harry stepped back, he saw Louis looking around frantically. Of course, thought Harry, how could he have forgotten? Seeing that there was no one around Louis tugged Harry closer to him. “Not here,” he rasped, his pupils blown wide.

Harry nodded, blindly following Louis, unsure of what was happening but just wanting it so, _so_ badly. He didn’t know how they had got here, where they were going or whether this was a terrible idea…. All he knew was that he wanted it more than anything he had wanted before.

\--

Harry didn’t know how he kept himself together during the taxi ride home. Louis’ hand was resting dangerously high up on his thigh, his thumb rubbing little circles into the tender skin there. Louis sat right beside him, dropping kisses to his shoulders and sucking love bites into Harry’s neck and he had to grip his seat and clench his jaw to stop himself from moaning out loud. He was definitely hard now and could see from the outline of Louis impossibly tight skinnies that he was too.

When they reached Harry’s apartment, Harry fumbled with his keys, shaking and barely able to turn them in the lock. It didn’t help that Louis stood right behind him, sucking kisses into the back of his neck, his erection pressing firmly against Harry’s arse. He final got the door open and they tumbled inside, Louis immediately pressing Harry up against the wall, caging him in with his arms as Harry pressed his lips hungrily against his, their kisses undeniably heated and sloppy and just so. fucking. hot.

“I’ve wanted to do this for ages,” Louis moaned into Harry’s mouth, gripping onto his curls and tilting his head back to expose the delicate porcelain skin of his neck, continuing to suck bruising kisses below his jawline.

“Please, Lou,” Harry whined, bucking up against Louis, searching for friction.

“Ok, baby, I’ll take care of you,” Louis murmured. Harry whined again at the endearment. They stumbled together into Harry’s bedroom, both so desperate that there was no room for finesse. “ _Off_ ,” Harry whined, tugging at Louis’ shirt. Louis complied, taking off both his and then Harry’’s shirt and then tugging down Harry’s impossibly tight skinny jeans with practised ease. He pressed his mouth over the fabric of Harry’s boxers, which earned him another “Please, Lou, stop teasing.”

Louis pulled down Harry’s boxers in a single deft movement, his erection springing free, achingly hard and heavy. He took the base of Harry’s cock in one hand and pressed a single, tender kiss to the tip of the head, swirling his tongue around the slit and tasting salty precome as Harry’s hand’s fisted desperately in the sheets. It was taking everything in him not to buck up into Louis’ mouth.

“Such a good boy for me, Haz,” Louis rasped.

Harry whined again, and Louis took pity on him, sinking all the way down on his cock and licking a flat stripe from base to tip along the vein on the underside. With one hand he held Harry’s hips firmly down on the mattress and with the other he covered the base of Harry's cock.. It took barely a few pumps and Harry was tugging at Louis’ hair in warning. Louis sucked harder as Harry spurted down his throat, sucking and swallowing the last dregs of come and leaving Harry a whining, whimpering mess. Louis moved up to where Harry lay to press a kiss to his lips, and just the sight of him, slackjawed and completely undone because of himwas so hot that it took barely three quick strokes of his hand and he was coming too, his eyes blacked out, his entire body reverberating with the shock of the best orgasm he had had in who knows how long.

Louis lay there for a while, both of them catching their breath and then got up to fetch a cloth, lovingly and gingerly cleaning up the mess on Harry’s belly. He then lay beside him and Harry immediately attached himself like a koala to Louis back kissing behind his ear. That was how they fell asleep, Louis with little puffs of breath tickling the nape of his neck and an arm draped across his waist. They were both fast asleep within minutes.


	5. Trying not to fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!  
> Sorry that this one took so long to upload, I've been swamped with deadlines. Hopefully the next few won't take as long.  
> From this chapter onwards, I'll be switching perspectives between Harry and Louis.  
> I don't think I originally realized how much of a slow burn this is, but hey. They'll get there eventually, not to worry.
> 
> Featuring Harry being a great friend and just the incredible person he is and Modest being *cough* Modest.  
> If you're enjoying it please share or leave comments - all feedback is appreciated as it motivates me to keep writing, and let's me know that I'm not just shouting into the abyss.  
> Love you all!

****

_Cannot touch, cannot hold, cannot be together_

_Cannot love, cannot kiss, cannot love each other_

_Must be strong and we must let go_

_Cannot say what our hearts must know_

_How can I not love you_

_Joy Enriquez_

When Harry woke, it was to the sun peeking through the gap in the linen curtains, bathing the room in a golden glow. He had Louis’ warm body tucked tightly into his own, his head resting against Harry's heart and tufts of soft golden hair brushing Harry's collar bones. He was still sleeping peacefully, his breathing deep and steady, his eyelashes fanning across his dainty cheekbones, impossibly long and dark. Harry traced a finger gently across the crest of Louis’ cheekbones, not quite believing that the night before had actually been real, and just needing to touch, to _feel,_ just to make 100% sure that this beautiful boy did indeed lie within breathing distance. He looked so young, so vulnerable like this, the anxiety and dark clouds of consciousness banished by the peaceful morning light. Louis’ eyelids fluttered, and opened his eyes, disorientated for a moment before catching sight of Harry.

“G’morning,” Louis whispered raspily. _God_ , that morning voice.

“Morning, Lou. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s ok,” he smiled and then tilted his head to press a kiss to Harry’s collarbone. He lay his head back down, sighing as Harry drew his fingers gently through Louis’ fringe.

“God, Louis,” Harry shivered, “You are so beautiful.”

Looking up again to meet Harry’s eyes, Louis pressed his lips gently to Harry’s. Harry wound a hand around Louis’ neck, stroking the soft little hairs at the nape of as their lips moved in synchrony, no hurry or desperation to it, just a tenderness that felt even more intimate somehow. Harry wanted all of his mornings to start like this. Breaking apart, Louis curled back into Harry’s chest, his head resting once again on Harry’s heart. Harry tenderly ran a his fingers down the top of Louis’ spine, as though trying to map each bump, committing the canvas of his skin to memory. If this was nothing more than a one-time thing to Louis, then Harry wanted to savour every moment before they had to return to reality.

He lay there quietly, listening to the sound of Louis’ soft exhales, stroking the pads of his fingers over the defined back muscles. The sun was gradually getting too glaring to ignore, and so Harry reached across to his bedside table, rummaging around for his phone to check the time. He yelped when he saw that the screen displayed 08:49 - way past when they should both have gotten up. Louis’ rehearsals started at 9 and Harry had a magazine interview at 11.

“Lou,” he croaked, his voice still raspy, “I think we need to get up soon.”

“Uh-uh,” Louis grumbled, “Wanna stay here.”

Harry let out a huffy chuckle and felt hopelessly endeared. God knows, he probably shouldn’t be quite so endeared by Louis acting like a child, but hey.

“Come on, Lou, I’ll make breakfast. What do you want to eat?”

Louis groaned and then sat up, a cheeky grin spreading across his face. “You.”

Harry grinned and rolled his eyes, “I’m afraid we don’t have time for that. Would you settle for pancakes instead?”

“Hmmm, I guess,” he shrugged, but his eyes twinkled.

Harry sat up too, and went towards the dresser, taking out a jumper, boxers and jeans for himself and a Pink Floyd T-shirt and joggers for Louis. On second thought, he took out his denim jacket with the sheepskin collar, aware that is was still chilly outside. “This ok?” he asked. He wasn’t sure whether Louis preferred to just rewear his own clothes of the night before. Worried that maybe sharing clothes was too intimate. That it meant something. Or something.

“Thanks, Haz.”

Once dressed, Harry headed towards the kitchen while Louis showered, whipping up a batch of chocolate-chip pancakes and putting the kettle on for some tea. He had bought a box Yorkshire tea weeks ago, pretty much as soon as he had discovered that it was Louis’ favourite. Pathetic, that.

A freshly showered Louis emerged ten minutes later from Harry’s bedroom, towelling his hair, and just looking… soft, Harry thought. It was so different from the Louis that he chose to show in the outside world, the smirk and biting humour, the carefully styled hair and skinny jeans and leather jackets – so different from the practically impenetrable wall of sarcasm and self-preservation that usually surrounded him.

Aware that he had been staring, Harry quickly refocused his attention on the last pancake, slipping it onto the plate and switching off the gas.

“Ugh, I love you,” Louis groaned through a mouthful of fluffy pancake, his eyes rolling obscenely.

Harry looked down at his laps, his cheeks pinkening, not wanting to meet Louis’ eyes. What he had just said – he _knew_ it was a joke, obviously, but it jolted Harry’s heart. He didn’t want to hear it, really, if it was something that would always remain a joke to Louis. It wasn’t to Harry, and that was where the problem lay. He had had felt a foolish glimmer when Louis had kissed him earlier that morning, but realized that now, in the light of day and away from the magical bubble of the sunstrewn bedroom, it was just the finishing flourish on their night together.

“Hey, Harry,” came Louis’ voice, gentle now, breaking into Harry’s distracted train of thought. Harry looked up tentatively, embarrassed by his overreaction. “I didn’t mean-

“I know,” Harry said tersely, abruptly getting up and taking his plate to the dishwasher, just to not have to look at Louis. “You’ve said, you don’t have to tell me again. Understood,” he continued, still with his back to him, embarrassed and angry at himself for getting carried away again.

_“Harry.”_

Harry whipped around to continue with his façade of nonchalance, just to find Louis close behind him.

“Harry, listen to me. What I said before, I meant it…”

Harry made to turn away again, but Louis stopped him, a hand on his forearm.

“Please, Harry,” he asked, “Just- I do still think that being in a relationship with me… you’re better off without it, to be honest. But… _fuck,”_ he cursed, and he looked torn and confused, “I like you, like _really_ like you Harry and I want…this.” He gestured between the two of them, “But I _can’t_ , Harry, not at the moment. I just need you to understand that I’m not rejecting you, ok?”

He let his arm fall lamely to his side, looking up at Harry beseechingly. Harry took a breath, trying to hold down some of the millions of thoughts flying haphazardly through his mind.

“So, you like me,” Harry gestured between them, mimicking Louis’ action, “But don’t want a relationship?” he finished, feeling as though a pound of lead had settled in his stomach. “Can I ask why?”

Louis sighed and rubbed his eyes, suddenly looking much older and just so, so tired.

“I’m not a relationship guy, Harry, I can’t- Look, every relationship I have ever had has gone to shit, you know? And what with us leaving for tour soon…”

Harry nodded, unsure of what to say.

“And, I’m still in the closet – will be for the foreseeable future. You – you deserve better than that Harry, you deserve better than someone who can’t hold your hand in public.”

“And don’t you think that it’s up to me to determine what I deserve?” Harry asked, his eyebrows raised. “Don’t you think that’s my choice to make.”

“I…” Louis shrugged helplessly, “I can’t. I’m no good… I’m not good at making promises.”

To his surprise and bewilderment, Harry saw a lone tear roll down Louis’ cheek. He couldn’t stand to see him like this, so raw and broken.

“ _Hey,”_ he murmured, tugging Louis into his arms and holding tight. Louis’ body immediately slumped, as though he had been barely held up by a single string up until that point, moulding his body immediately to Harry’s. “Hey, It’s OK, Lou, _hey_.” Harry whispered, stroking Louis’ back comfortingly, “It’s not – I’m not, I don’t want you to cry because of me.”

With a sniff, Louis seemed to pull himself together a little, letting go of Harry and straightening up with a weak smile. “It’s not your fault, ok, Harry? Ugh, I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately, I don’t know why I’m fucking crying like a little girl,” he wiped a tear away furiously.

“Lou,” Harry said seriously, “Don’t say that. It’s important to cry, it doesn’t make you any less of a man. I think crying is one of the manliest things you can do.”

Louis snorted derisively but showed the hint of a smile. “Of course would say that, Harry.”

“I mean it, Lou. Look I get it, ok? Whatever’s going on with you, I respect it. Just know that no matter how many times you reject me, I’ll still always be here. As your friend, as whatever you want. If that’s what you need right now, then that’s what we’ll do. I don’t want to stop talking to you again,” he admitted, feeling suddenly vulnerable again. Harry sighed, his stomach churning and his heart physically aching from seeing Louis like this.

“I understand,” he said, although he wasn’t sure whether he really did.

“Now, how about I drive you to work. You’re already like half an hour late,” he continued, grimacing when he glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall.

Taking a step back and sniffing with finality, Louis said: “A Queen is never late; everyone else is simply early.”

"You did _not_ just quote the Princess Diaries at me," Harry guffawed, secretly incredibly relieved that Louis was seemingly feeling better, and Louis gave his signature crinkly-eyed smile, assuring Harry that he wasn’t just faking it.

“But, yeah, all right, I should probably get going.”

.

\----- 

**LOUIS**

Rehearsal was a disaster. Louis was completely distracted and he knew it. He was continually messing up the choreography (if you could even call it that – it still baffled him that they had to actually practice walking back and forth and changing mic positions), forgetting to come in on his verses and missing notes left, right and centre. Liam kept shooting him worried looks that just added to Louis’ stress and frustration, and their tour manager realized after a few hours that they weren’t going to get very much more out of Louis today.

“Right,” sighed Kirstie, not unkindly, “Clearly that’s as far as we’ll get today. Go on lads, have an early night and we’ll reconvene tomorrow. And please at least try to be on time.” Louis barely registered the disappointed look on her face. He just didn’t have it in him to care.

As he packed up his things, Liam sidled over to him, and tapped him gently on the shoulder, his eyes wide with worry and sympathy. “Tommo, are you alright?”

Louis sighed heavily. He couldn’t get into this with Liam, and he knew exactly what he would say anyway.

“I’m fine,” he snapped, harsher than he had intended. He couldn’t bear to see the look of pity on Liam’s face for another moment, so he snatched up his bag and stalked out, ordering an uber as he went.

When Louis arrived home, he felt utterly drained, as though he had been awake for a week. They had barely had a half day of rehearsals and yet he felt weak, hollow. He nursed a beer and switched on the TV, just for some mindless background noise, sinking into the couch cushions.

What the fuck had he been thinking? Sleeping with Harry had been…incredible, but also incredibly stupid. He had known for a while now, his feelings building up over the weeks until he just couldn’t lie to himself any more: he was pretty sure he was falling in love with Harry. He had felt the fluttery precursors of it the very first time he had seen Harry on that wintery January evening, and then again and even stronger when they had sat writing together in his music room. He hadn’t been able to stop tracing the contours of Harry’s face with his eyes, felt himself drawn, as if magnetised, to those dimples whenever Louis succeeded in making him smiled. He had wanted to tuck the loose curls which fell across Harry’s eyes behind his ears, touch the pale expanse of porcelain skin that peeked out from his various ridiculous blouses. He had held it together though, kept his hands to himself until….. well yeah, that had been a bit of a cock up on his part.

And even then, when he had acted like an absolute arsehole, Harry had come back, as kind and as patient as ever, willing to pretend as though nothing had happened, looking after him every time he got fucked up and made an embarrassment of himself. Louis felt a rush of hot shame at the idea that Harry had seen him like this so many times now, felt a jolt of disgust for himself pass through his gut like icy fire.

And then, there was the night before, where he hadn’t been able to stand seeing Harry pressed up close to another guy, couldn’t bear to see another guy run his fingers through Harrys curls or make those little dimples appear. And even when he had spoken to Harry after their night together, even after he had slept with him and then been an absolute trainwreck the next morning, unable to provide any sensible explanation as to why, Harry had still been there, constant and comforting and understanding.

He wondered for a moment how it would be if he could just let himself fall, if he went for it, if he ignored the voice in his head reminding him of who he was, of what he was capable of. But then he pictured Harry’s face, his beautiful, unassuming face and discarded the idea at once. He had been right in his decision, he was sure of it. Harry was too good, too lovely, too unscathed for him to drag through the mud. He would never be able to live with himself if he hurt Harry; Louis had behaved in many despicable ways, but he knew that this could be the one to destroy him. It was precisely because he loved Harry – there was no use denying it anymore – that he couldn’t be with him.

And yet, it seemed, Louis just couldn’t stay away.

The following day he woke up early, tired and yet restless at the same time, after a poor night’s sleep. He checked his phone to see it read 7:15 am as well as two missed calls and considered rolling over and going back to sleep, but figured he should probably check whatever had apparently been so important at the asscrack of dawn.

“Moira,” he greeted, his voice still raspy.

“Louis,” a clipped voice answered, “Good to finally hear back from you.”

“You only called 15 minutes ago,” he pointed out, but the woman continued in an unimpressed tone, ignoring his quip, “Now that you’re up, I wanted to inform you that we need you in for a meeting at the Modest offices this afternoon. Please come in directly after rehearsal.”

Louis sighed. This could be nothing good: it never was. Meetings meant media training, new beards and contracts. Meetings meant slaps on the wrist, threats and stunts. Media meant sitting in a room with people who viewed his sexuality as an inconvenient parasite, to be hidden or destroyed at all costs.

“All right. I’ll be there,” he replied curtly, hanging up the phone, not wanting to extend the conversation for any longer than was strictly necessary. He braced himself and reluctantly got up to get dressed. There was no longer any point in trying to get back to sleep now. It was going to be a godawfully long day.

At 5pm, Louis presented himself in front of the familiar frosted-glass doors of Modest’s main conference room. Familiar in the sense that they made Louis’ skin itch and bile crawl up his throat. He wasn’t late for a change, but was barely there a handful of minutes before he was called in.

“Louis,” came a familiar voice. Simon Jones’ pinched face approached him, extending a hand. Louis shook it quickly, grudgingly and sat himself down in the nearest chair. The faster this was done, the better.

“So, Louis, your image has been suffering a little lately,” began the toad-like old man in a smooth voice, imitating friendliness but not quite achieving it. How Louis despised him, Jesus.

“Why don’t you just cut to the chase, Simon. What do you want from me? A tweet, a new beard?” Louis cut in curtly, not bothering to be polite.

Simon’s beady eyes narrowed, his plastic smile still plastered in place.

“As I was saying,” he continued smoothly, as though the interruption hadn’t happened, “You’ve not had a great few weeks PR wise. As you were all on break we agreed to keep PR to a minimum, but this,” he slid a few photos across the table, which Louis picked up and glanced at briefly, “-is problematic. Not the image we would like for you to have.”

Louis gave a hollow laugh. As if there had ever been anything voluntary, anything gentle about it. ‘Would like’ didn’t come anywhere into the equation, it never had. It would be funny if it wasn’t so goddamn horrible.

He looked through the photos. They were of him, clearly drunk or stoned, stumbling out of clubs or house parties. 6 in total. 6 clearly different occasions. “So what?” he asked, raising his chin in defiance. He still had some dignity, goddamit. “I partied a bit. I’m 24, it’s not abnormal to get drunk or go out once in a while.”

Simon sighed exaggeratedly as though he were trying to explain something simple to a particularly dense toddler. “Except it _isn’t_ once in a while Louis, we have 6 shots of clearly distinguishable occasions.”

He sat back with a self-satisfied smirk that Louis really wanted to slap off his face. Instead, he clasped his hands together, trying to remain calm.

“Need I remind you, Louis, that your target audience is mostly comprised of impressionable teenage girls, and more importantly the tickets that those girls buy are, in actuality, purchased by their parents. Those parents are not going to let their daughters support a band whose members go out and make a drunk spectacle of themselves in public,” he said indifferently.

Louis could feel his cheeks going red, his anger bubbling at the base of his throat. He clasped his hands tighter together, knuckles going white.

“As is to be expected,” Simon continued, oblivious to Louis’ discomfort – or perhaps he was aware but just didn’t care, “The Sun and the Daily Mail have run with it, claiming that you’ve been taking a different girl home every night.”

“Well isn’t that just perfect for you then,” Louis snorted angrily, “Perfectly in line with my straighter-than-straight image.”

“No, it’s not,” Simon replied, still in that infuriatingly patronizing tone, “The whole point of all the PR we do for you is to promote the ‘wholesome’ image. That includes you being straight and therefore ‘potentially dateable’ but, importantly, it also includes you not being a bad influence.”

Louis remained silent, his nostrils flaring and his lips pressed tightly together. He knew that if he let himself speak, he would say something he would most certainly regret.

Simon nodded, apparently taking Louis’ silence as a form of tacit agreement. “So, this is what we need from you. You are going to get back together with Eleanor and push the narrative that you’ve been lost without her and that all the going out and misbehaving was your way of coping with the break up. You will be the perfect, ideal, supportive boyfriend. As always, it won’t require much from you, just some tweets here and there which we will obviously take care of-“

“Obviously,” Louis sniggered. He hadn’t tweeted from his own account in _years._

“- a few papped outings and of course, she’ll be visiting you on tour.”

“Of course,” Louis muttered. “Is that all?” he asked curtly.

“Yes, that is everything, Louis, you’re free to go. You know,” he sighed, still maintaining that condescending, smug expression he always wore, “We’re only trying to help you.”

“Right,” Louis spat, turning for the door. He knew if he stayed in that room for a moment longer, he would not be able to hold his tongue. He strode out purposefully, out, out, just needing to get _out_ and as far away as possible. Usually, this would make him want to go out, to lose himself and get completely blasted to make him forget why he was so angry. But since that wasn’t an option, he strode out into the cool air, relishing in the cold whip of air against his skin. He thought he didn’t know where he wanted to go or what he needed right now but then a face rose to the top of his mind. A face framed with tumbling chocolate curls, a face embedded two glittering emeralds, a face with dimples and sharp bones. Harry. He knew that seeing Harry was probably the only other thing that could make him feel better. He knew he shouldn’t, especially not so soon, but he seemingly couldn’t help it as he found himself driving in the direction of Harry’s flat, almost unconsciously.

Harry opened the door to the flat almost immediately at the sound of Louis’ ring, smiling welcomingly, a frilly green apron tied loosely around his waist, flour coating his hands and speckling his cheeks. “Lou,” he greeted. His face was a mixture of pleasant surprise, confusion and a tinge of worry. “What’s up?”

Willing himself not to cry again, Louis asked, “Can I come in?”

“Of course,” Harry nodded, “I was just finishing off a batch of cookies for Libby. I can start on dinner now, if you’d like some?”

 _You are so beautiful,_ Louis thought, as he watched Harry bustle towards the kitchen, curls bouncing, his gait awkward like there was too much limb to control. Louis had come in unannounced, with no explanation, despite having slept with him and then rejected him literally just the day before, and yet Harry’s first instinct was to welcome him in without hesitation and feed him.

“I would love that,” Louis admitted.

“Perfect,” Harry smiled, rinsing his hands under the tap and then rooting around in the fridge. “How do you feel about salmon and roast potatoes?” He asked, “Nothing particularly exciting I’m afraid,” he apologised.

“That’s really great, Haz, thank you.”

He had immediately felt some of the tension weighing on his shoulders lightening as he had entered Harry’s flat, and now, sitting in his warm kitchen that smelled irresistibly like freshly baked sugar cookies, he felt exponentially calmer.

Harry busied himself preparing the potatoes and the salmon, the two of them in comfortable silence. The salmon and potatoes in the oven, Harry dusted off his hands and looked up at Louis. “So, Lou, what’s going on?”

Louis took a deep breath and began to tell Harry the entire sorry story. It was like one he had started, the flood-gates had opened, and from then on, he just couldn’t stop. He usually hated – _hated_ – talking about things like this, sharing his feelings or whatever, but somehow with Harry it didn’t feel like a painful chore.

As Louis spoke, Harry’s eyes flashed with the occasional spark of outrage but mostly remained sympathetic and kind, but not patronizing or pitying.

When he finished, there was a short silence as Harry took in everything he had heard.

Louis swallowed audibly. He probably shouldn’t have spilled all of that. Too late now.

“I know I agreed to this, and I know I have so much to be grateful for”, Louis broke into the silence, “I realized how stupid this all sounds…”

“It doesn’t sound stupid, Lou,” Harry said sincerely, reaching out a hand to squeeze Louis’ own, “You deserve good things, you know, even if you don’t believe it yourself.”

Louis swallowed. Since his mum had passed a year back, no one had spoken to him like that. No one had really, truly listened without judgement and no one had given him the affirmation which he hadn’t even realized he needed. His mouth felt dry all of a sudden and he was worried he might start crying like an idiot again.

“Look, Lou,” Harry continued, “What they’re doing to you, it’s fucked up, ok? You have every right to be angry about it. It really sucks, I get that.”

He paused for a moment, carefully choosing his next words.

“I’m not gonna try and tell you that it could be worse, or that you shouldn’t let it get to you, or some shit like that, but you should know that there are so many people who love you and accept you for you are, yeah? You may have to act for now, but one day, this will all be in the past ok? Your fans adore you, you coming out…it’s not going to change how they feel about you. For a few, maybe, but you don’t want fans like that anyway.”

Of course. Only Harry would say something like that. And only Harry would be able to make it sound sincere and…. important somehow.

“I just feel…” Jesus, Louis thought, when was the last time he started a sentence with those words? “I feel like they’ll feel betrayed, you know, like I lied to them.”

Harry nodded. “I understand that Lou, but I don’t agree. Even if they don’t know all the shit your label and management has put you through – and they may well do, their smarter than people give them credit for – even if they don’t, coming out is a deeply personal thing. It isn’t your responsibility or ‘duty’ or whatever to share that part of you with the general public you know.”

“How do you always know exactly what to say to make me feel better?” Louis asked him.

“Nah I don’t,” Harry smiled gently, and shrugged, “I’m just telling you what I really think.”

Fifteen minutes later, the oven timer rang shrilly above their chatter, which had progressed to less painful subjects, and Harry drew out a tray of tender salmon fillets and crisp golden potatoes.

“That smells heavenly,” Louis groaned, “I can’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal.” He could of course, it was the last time the five of them had been together before Harry’s gig when Harry had cooked them an unbelievably sumptuous Sunday Roast. But, if Louis admitted to himself, before Harry had come back into his life, it had definitely been at least a year. He told Harry as much through mouthfuls of heavenly roast potato.

“Really?” Harry asked, his brow furrowed.

“Not since my mum…”

Harry nodded immediately, understanding. Louis had told him more than he had probably told anyone else about what had happened, despite only knowing him a few days at the time.

“Do you not ever cook for yourself then?”

“Nope,” Louis shrugged.

Harry’s brow was still furrowed. Louis wanted to reach across the table and smooth out the crinkles with his thumb.

“Don’t tell me you survive off takeout,” Harry said, aghast.

“And ready meals,” Louis added defensively.

“Are you telling me that the last time you ate a vegetable was at Sunday dinner?”

“Uhh…. maybe?” Louis grinned.

Harry brought his hand to his heart in mock horror, before bursting out into giggles. His laughy was bubbly and infectious, and Louis felt himself begin to laugh as well. The two of them continued laughing, no longer about what had originally started them off, but at each other’s laugh and just everything in generally. Harry made this ridiculous sqwuaking sound that made both himself and Louis burst into another bout of uncontrollable giggles.

When the two of them had finally calmed down and finished their dinner (Louis had practically licked the plate clean), Louis stood to help Harry with the washing up.

“I had better go,” remarked Louis regretfully, glancing up at the clock that read 8:30. Harry didn’t stop him, just nodded.

“Ok, Lou. It was good to see you.”

Louis nodded, his throat dry again, unsure of what to say. “Thank you for… for uh cheering me up,” he mumbled, needing his words to convey just how much he appreciated Harry, how much he meant to Louis but sure that his words couldn’t do it justice. “Even after… uh… everything with, y’know…” he trailed off.

Harry, as always, knew what he meant anyway.

“Hey,” he murmured gently, drawing closer and placing a comforting hand on Louis’ shoulder, looking into his eyes, nothing but sincerity in his own. “I told you, I get it. I want to keep being friends, want to be here in any way I can, ok?”

Louis just nodded, his throat still tight.

“Can I hug you?” Harry asked then, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course,” Louis croaked.

Harry tugged him into a firm hug, and Louis immediately felt his own body melt into Harry’s as if on instinct. He wound his arms around Harry’s neck, tucking his face against Harry’s chest, comforted by his warmth and the steady drum of Harry’s heartbeat. He felt safe like this, safe and loved and like maybe not everything would go to shit, like maybe he wasn’t such a piece of shit.

They separated after a few moments, and Louis smiled weakly, gesturing with his thumb towards the door, “I…”

“Off you go, Lou, see you.”

Louis left, waving behind him one last time before closing the door, feeling so much lighter than when he had entered.


	6. I gotta get better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> Warning for this one: description of chronic depression.  
> Keep leaving kudos and comments.  
> Love you all  
> P  
> x

_We haven’t spoke since you’ve been away_

_Comfortable silence is so overrated_

_Why won’t you ever be the first one to break?_

_Even my phone misses your call, by the way_

_\- From the dining table_

_Harry Styles_

“Ok, wait, wait, run that by me again,” said Libby through a mouthful of Caesar salad, waving her fork in the air.

“He said he doesn’t want a relationship, but he still wants to be friends,” Harry explained patiently, for what felt like the millionth time.

“Ouch,” Libby winced.

“Yeah, yeah, I know what it sounds like,” said Harry, “But it’s not quite that.”

Libby raised her eyebrows sceptically. “Harry,” she said, softening, “Look, you’re one of my best mates, yeah? We’ve always told each other the truth, so, this is going to sound a bit shit but I think it’s something you should hear. From what it sounds like, you guys let lust get in the way and had a one-time thing, but that’s all it was to him. He was just letting you down gently, I think,” she finished apologetically, probably aware of just how harsh it sounded.

“I get that, I do,” insisted Harry unable to stop the red flush that spread across his cheeks, “But I think it might be more complicated than that. He has this….complex that he’s not good enough for me or something.”

“Isn’t that just another reiteration of ‘It’s not you, it’s me?’” Libby pointed out sceptically.

She heaved a deep sigh, crossing her knife and fork, before looking up at Harry with concern in her eyes, “Look, H, it may well be that he _does_ have feelings and he doesn’t want to hurt you or whatever, but you need to understand how it looks from my standpoint. I’m worried that you’re going to continue waiting for him, caring for him and giving too much of yourself like you always do when he’s never going to reciprocate. I’ve seen you do it before, H, and I don’t want you to get hurt like that again. Do you really think you two will be able to remain friends?”

“I said I’d be there for him, and that’s it. I’m not just gonna drop him because he doesn’t want more… I think Louis needs a friend right now.” Harry insisted, his cheeks still red. _Was Libby right? Was he being blind and naïve_? He had thought otherwise, had thought that their closeness had been something more but maybe….

Libby shook her head exasperatedly, as she drained her glass of wine, “You’re too kind for your own good, H, you know that?”

Louis lay in bed, duvet tucked up to his chin, his eyes staring unblinkingly up at the ceiling of yet another nameless grey hotel room. The rain continued to drip miserably down the window pane, the sun remained entirely covered by thick grey clouds. The weather was altogether too dreary and cold for France in April. He felt completely drained, even though they had had a day off the day before, but he recognized the tiredness for what it was; recognized the dark cloud hovering oppressively above his head, the heavy chains tying his immobile body to the bed. He recognized all too well the feeling of complete emptiness, his body almost numb as though it would collapse in on itself if he were to try to get up.

He couldn’t sleep anymore but he couldn’t get out of bed either; knew that his body and mind were too heavy, that he wouldn’t last long outside the warm confines of the double bed.

His phone pinged again and Louis suspected it was either Liam or Niall checking to see if he was okay, or asking him to lunch, or telling him they needed to go over the verses of _Clouds_. He considered ignoring them again, but he knew that they’d just end up coming to find him if he didn’t as it had been well over 36 hours now, and he just couldn’t fucking handle the looks of pity and disappointment in their eyes right now.

It wasn’t Niall, nor was it Liam.

**Hi Louis. Hope everything is going well with the tour!**

**The cat’s back again, by the way, but he doesn’t seem to**

**like me as much** **L** **Love, H. x**

Louis was well aware that you don’t actually feel emotional pain in your heart - he had at least passed his biology GSCE if not his A level - but he nonetheless felt an unbearable physical ache take over his chest cavity.

In the week after _that night_ , a stray cat had started to visit Harry’s apartment and Harry had immediately insist they feed him and look after him. She was a skinny little thing, with a nick in her left ear and the roundest yellow eyes Louis had ever seen. Harry had immediately began cooing over her, insisting they go to the shops to pick up some food and coaxing her in through the window. That was Harry, always so kind and so silly and so patient. Harry had wanted to name her Lady Di, but Louis considered this to a be far too ridiculous name for a cat, and insisted on calling her Diana instead. For the next week, Louis had watched on fondly as Harry had carefully tipped a sachet of cat food into a little bowl each day. Despite Harry’s – frankly Disney princess-like – adoption and care of the animal, for some reason the cat had immediately taken to Louis and took every opportunity to curl up on his lap, or butt his head against Louis’ hands, plying him for cuddles.

The memory of the curly boy’s adorable pout as he watched this betrayal, and the way he had sniffed, “Traitor” sulkily under his breath, all the while looking secretly charmed and delighted swam to the top of Louis’ mind. He could feel his cheeks stretch in a ghost of a smile. His cheeks and mouth felt stiff and uncomfortable as though they hadn’t performed this action in ages.

But then a new thought took over his conscious, the thought that he had been so incredibly shitty towards Harry, that he had been too fucking self-absorbed, and useless and pathetic to call him, or text him back. He thought of all the ways he had hurt Harry – Harry, the most patient, kind and loving person he knew; a person who didn’t deserve any of this – and his smile vanished without a trace.

He thought of how stupid he had been to allow himself to spend so much time with him, this boy that seemed to be made up of light, when he himself was nothing but a menacing storm-cloud, a toxic, noxious presence that dragged everything and everyone down with it. He thought about how disappointed and confused Liam and Niall were in him, how much they must hate him now, must think him unreliable and annoying. He used to always be the life of the party, a good friend – one that was always there for them no matter what. And now…. some days he was like that old version of Louis, but most of the time he was just a shadow, a pale imitation of who he once was. More often than not, he was _this_ Louis, the one who spent days in bed without taking to anyone, who drank until he blacked out, who didn’t let anyone get close to him.

Sometimes he wondered if maybe everyone would be better off…..

 _Ping!_ His phone interrupted his train of thought with yet another text message from Niall.

**Hey, mate. Don’t forget rehearsal in half an hour.**

Sighing deeply and feeling as though no amount of oxygen or caffeine or whatever else could possibly get rid of the lethargy that seeped through to his bones, Louis forced himself to get up. He may be a piece of shit, a bad friend, a fake, a queer…. But he was still a professional.

The show must go on, after all.

\------

Harry was sat on the sofa in his pyjamas, his phone clasped tightly in his hands, a steaming mug of tea on the coffee table in front of him, some series or another running on the television. He had the day off from gigs and interviews, and he was taking full advantage of it.

It had been over a week since Louis, Liam and Niall had left for the European leg of their world tour, and Harry hadn’t heard a word from Louis except from the occasional text. He hated to admit it, but he was a little crestfallen, considering that, following the night of Harry’s gig, they had spent almost every day together. He had been meticulous not to cross the line, to keep everything strictly friendly, but they had seemed as magnetically drawn to one another as always, unable to be physically too far apart. There had been far too many occasions when Harry had had to force himself not to kiss Louis, to look away when he stretched to expose just the thinnest sliver of golden skin below his jumper, not to hold his hand when he admitted something in that quiet voice he saved only for Harry.

But he had managed. They had talked a lot, and Louis had shared more of himself more willingly than he ever had before. Harry had no idea what had brought this on, but he didn’t want to question him. He wondered if Louis felt the same he did, in that he felt he could really say anything to the other man without fear of being judged or ridiculed.

Despite their decision to remain friends (well, Louis’ decision and Harry’s reluctant acceptance) and despite the careful absence of anything physical, Harry had never felt emotionally closer to anyone, not even Libby or Zayn; had never felt as hollow and itchy as when he hadn’t seen Louis for a few hours. This last revelation scared him: he knew he was treading on treacherous ground, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.

For this reason, he couldn’t help feeling despondent every time Louis took hours to reply or answered his texts with a single word. _Am I annoying him?_ Harry thought to himself, worriedly chewing his lip as he stared down at the double blue ticks. _Or am I coming on too strong when he’s said he’s not interested?_ God, Harry felt so stupid. He locked his phone and chucked it on the counter, vowing determinedly not to look at it for _at least_ an hour. Just as he was getting up off the sofa, it pinged and, all self-restraint forgotten, he immediately snatched it up again.

It wasn’t Louis. Harry tried to ignore the leaden feeling in his chest. Louis always texted, and this was a what’sapp.

Unlocking his phone, he checked to see who it could be.

**Hi Harry! It’s Timothée, from the other night?**

**I got your number from a friend, hope you don’t mind.**

**How are you? x**

Harry blinked in surprise. It had been almost a month since the party – he had never really expected to hear from Timothée again, unless it was at another industry party.

_Hi there, I’m well, thank you. Of course, I don’t mind._

_It’s been a while, how have you been? H._

Satisfied with the message, Harry pressed send. He was aware that it wasn’t the most riveting text in the world, but he really wasn’t sure what to say to Timothée. They had met one time, over a month ago on the same night that everything changed with Louis. Their night together and the next morning had eclipsed anything that came before, in effect erasing most of the details from earlier in the evening from his mind, and so for the life of him, he couldn’t think of a thing to say.

**I’m good. Had a lot of fun talking to you a few weeks back.**

**Had to do some real detective work to get your number;**

**you’re a man of mystery Mr Styles. ;) x**

Harry stared at the text for a moment. Was he flirting? It wouldn’t be altogether implausible considering their flirty banter and dancing at the party. But hadn’t he seen Harry leave with Louis? Hadn’t he, like almost everyone else, been able to see the painful mixture of desire and admiration and misguided hope that took over Harry’s eyes whenever he so much as looked at Louis?

He shook his hands agitatedly. Even if he was flirting, Harry had no idea how to handle this. Despite people’s assumptions about him, he wasn’t particularly great at flirting or picking up signals. He didn’t really have a method other than to stare persistently at his crush until they well, hopefully, noticed, something which Zayn and Libby had poked endless fun at. They called it his ‘murder face.’

Suddenly having an idea, Harry exited the message, opened up another chat and began to type.

_Hey, K. Do you remember what I told you about the night of_

_the gig? Sooo, Timothée just texted me and I’m not sure if he’s_

_flirting or not. Helpppp meeeee pleeeease. H. Xx_

He and Kendall had become fast friends since their first meeting. They often texted or called for advice or just to vent, and Harry had told her everything about the saga with Louis, something he had not done with either Libby or Zayn. Due to her incredibly busy schedule, they were only able to meet up occasionally, but when they did, Harry always left the little café or restaurant or wherever feeling a little less despondent. She was the only one out of his friends who was not overly sceptical about Louis, who didn’t give him warnings or looks of pity whenever the subject arose.

**Definitely flirting, H! Call me?**

She had once again read his mind, clearly aware that his thoughts were whirling around unbridled in his brain and that he needed her to calm him down. He dialled her number immediately.

“Hey, H.” she answered, on the first ring.

He didn’t even bother with pleasantries – they were past that. “What do I _doooo?”_ he whined.

He could almost hear Kendall rolling her eyes through the phone.

“Well what do you _want_ to do?”

“I dunno,” Harry said quietly, biting his lip.

“Okay, H,” she said patiently, “Look, do you want to see him again?”

Harry mulled it over for a moment. _He had_ enjoyed the evening, had felt that fizzle of excitement as he held Harry close, swaying gently to the orchestra.

“I mean yeah but…”

“But Louis?” Kendall asked knowingly.

Yes, _Louis._ Ever since Louis, nothing had looked the same to Harry. Smiles were drab and uninspiring if they weren’t accompanied by Louis’ signature crinkles, all tattoos cliched and unoriginal. He found all other blue eyes dull in comparison to Louis’ glittering sapphires. He found himself comparing everything and everyone to Louis almost unconsciously, and he didn’t seem able to stop.

“Yeah,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Hey, H, none of that. You have nothing to feel bad about, okay. Your feelings are valid. But I’m thinking…. Maybe it would good to date a bit, just to see what’s out there.”

“He hasn’t actually asked me out yet,” Harry pointed out.

“Oh purrrlease,” Kendall sniggered, “Man of mystery? He’s a shameless flirt.”

Just then, as though by some cosmic force, their conversation had infiltrated into Timothée’s brain, another message came through from Timothée.

**Was wondering if you maybe wanted to get a drink sometime? X**

“He just asked me to drinks,” Harry informed Kendall, dryly, “It’s like you’re psychic or something.”

“So”

“So, _what_?”

“ _So_ , what are you going to do?”

“I mean, maybe I should say yes,” he said, the end of his sentence inflected upwards in a question, “Just to see how it goes.”

“To be honest, H, I think it would be good for you. You don’t have to make any promises or get _married_ or anything, it’s just one date, after all.”

“And you think I need to get over Louis,” Harry added, his voice dry.

There was a brief pause and when Kendall eventually answered, her voice was kind, but sincere.

“That’s not what I said Harry. You _know_ that I don’t think you need to kick him out your life or stop thinking about him or anything like that, because I think Louis is… complicated, let’s say. But I _do_ think that going out, seeing what it might be like with someone else can’t hurt.”

“Alright, so, what do I respond?”

“Oh for godsake Harold, just say yes!” she exclaimed in exasperation.

“Okay, okay,” Harry grinned, “Bye then.”

“Bye, H,” she made an obnoxious kissy sound into the receiver, and Harry hung up, chuckling and feeling exponentially better. He navigated back onto his what’s app and started typing out a message.

_Sure, that would be great. I’m available any evening this week except Friday._

Again, nothing particularly revolutionary but it would do the job. His heart feeling a little lighter, Harry got up to take a shower, but not before he firmly switched his phone off. Obsessing over replies, whoever they may be from, didn’t do him any good, and he had a lunch with Gemma to get to in any case.

\------

“Hello?” Harry rasped, disorientated and confused, his voice still thick with sleep. He glanced over to the alarm clock on his bed-side table. It read 03:12 am.

“Harryyyyy!” came a booming voice, “ ‘S Louis!”

“Hi, Louis,” Harry replied softly, trying to ignore the little jolt he had felt behind his navel on hearing him speak after so long.

“How are you, love?”

“I’m goooood, everything’s good,” Louis slurred, “I miss you,” he added, suddenly sounding teary.

All Harry’s anger and frustration at not hearing anything out of Louis for two weeks vanished embarrassingly quickly, his heart panging at the melancholy in Louis’ voice.

“I’m sorry ‘ve been such a terrible friend.”

“Hey, Lou, don’t say that. You haven’t been a terrible friend at all, you’ve just been busy, I understand,” Harry soothed, his voice still croaky. He had noticed a while back that Louis’ accent became even more pronounced when he was drunk, and tonight was no different.

“No, ‘a have, Harry, ‘a have,” Louis insisted tearfully.

“Shhh, Lou, babe it’s all righ-“

“’M always so terrible to everyone” Louis interrupted, his voice wavery and thin, “I love you Harry,” he said suddenly, “I love you and I’m terrible.”

Harry could feel his heart literally splintering in his chest. He couldn’t bear to hear Louis in this much pain.

“Shhh, Lou, it’s ok. Where are you right now?”

“M in Portugal,” Louis slurred unhelpfully.

“I know that babe, but where exactly? Are Niall and Liam with you?”

“’M at a party I think… Niam and Liall went back.”

“Okay, Lou, I’m going to call Liam to come and fetch you ok? So he can look after you.”

“Nooooo,” Louis wailed, “Want you.”

“I can’t come Lou, I’m still in England remember,” Harry answered patiently, “I’m going to call Liam now, alright?”

“No! Please don’t go, Harry,” Louis implores, his voice raw and quiet now.

“Only for a few minutes, ok Lou?” Harry assures him, suppressing a sigh, “I’ll just call Liam and then I’ll be back on the phone, ok?”

“Ok,” Louis agreed, unconvinced.

Pressing end call, Harry finds Liam’s number in his contacts and calls immediately. It rings twice before he hears Liam’s familiar, ‘Ello?”

“What the _fuck_ man?” Harry asks, “Why did I just get a call from a clearly drunk Louis telling me that you and Niall just ditched him at a party?”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down, what are you talking about? Ni and I are still here, it’s Louis that’s disappeared, we haven’t seen him for ages.”

“Aren’t you looking after him at all?” Harry asks, exasperation clear in his voice now.

“Look, Harry,” Liam says carefully, evidently picking up on Harry’s frustration, “We’re not Louis’ keepers ok?”

“But you’re not even try-“

“What do you know?” Liam snaps, his voice sharp, “We’ve known Louis for _years_ , Harry. You’ve known him three months, ok? This is what he does, he goes out and gets absolutely wrecked and won’t listen to either me or Niall or anyone else for that matter. We’ve tried everything, cutting him off, not letting him come with us, babysitting him… nothing works Harry, he manages to find a way around it. I love Louis but he’s and adult, he has to deal with his own shit.”

Harry was seething, and it took him an immeasurable amount of restraint to keep his voice calm.

“Alright, I understand Liam, you do know him better than me. But please, he’s somewhere at this party by himself, scared and drunk and he needs someone to pick him up.”

There was silence and then Liam spoke again, his voice less sharp now, “Ok, Harry, I’ll try to find him. I didn’t mean to snap, it’s just,” he paused as if unsure whether or not to continue, “He hasn’t been doing very well, to be honest,” he admits.

Harry feels another sharp pang of worry, but ignores it for the time being. The priority now is to get Louis home safe, and hopefully without doing anything that could further harm his public image.

“We’ll talk about it when you get a chance, ok Li? For now, go pick him up and look after him.”

“Will do,” Liam agrees, “And I’m sorry for being sharp with you. If anyone knows how Louis gets, it’s you, you’ve been there and picked up the pieces. It’s just really hard seeing your best mate like that, you know?”

“I do, I get it Liam.”

“Alright, bye Harry, we’ll talk soon, ok.”

Harry nods, though he knows Liam can’t see. “Yeah, ok, bye.”

Harry doesn’t get back to sleep that morning. He feels wide awake, his skin practically itching with worry. He lays on his back, staring at the ceiling absently, unwanted thoughts and images running through his head unbidden. Eventually, at around 6, he gives up on falling back to sleep and gets up, shrugging on his slippers and a hoodie that doesn’t belong to him and plods towards the kitchen for a cup of tea. On the way, he catches sight of himself in the mirror. He’s pale, his hair dishevelled from running his fingers through it and he has deep circles beneath his eyes. _He looks how he feels then_ , he thinks cynically.

Harry perches on the kitchen counter, nursing a strong cup of tea, the warmth from the mug seeping comfortingly into his hands. He gazes out of the window distractedly. It’s raining, again, like it had been for the past week or so and Harry just doesn’t have it in him to go for a run or pop out for groceries. He feels restless though, and knows that just sitting around the house all day before his gig that evening would drive him insane. He couldn’t stop replaying last night’s conversations in his head, kept hearing Liam's defeated tone, Louis’ slur telling him that he missed him. He couldn’t stop thinking about how much he wanted to be there with Louis, to look after him, to run his fingers through his soft golden hair and reassure him.

He needed to get some of it out, needed to channel it in some way. He grabs his leather-bound notebook and picks up his acoustic guitar from its resting place in the corner and settles his tea on the coffee table, sitting down on the couch, holding his guitar and tentatively plucking out a few notes.

_How many nights have you wished someone would stay?_ __  
Lay awake only hoping they're okay  
I never counted all of mine  
If I tried...

He trailed off. It sounded… monumental, this song, unlike anything he had ever written before. It spoke of heartache and yearning and as such, it was unfamiliar ground to Harry. The majority of his music up until recently hadn’t had that anthemic expression of pain that he could feel seeping from these lyrics. He had written songs about literally _everything_ , about friendship, failed relationships, being in the closet, hiding his true self, discrimination. Hell, he had even wrote a few about Zayn’s romantic exploits. But this was different. If he allowed himself to be honest, he would admit that this wouldn’t be the first song he had started to write about Louis. He hadn’t showed any of his new music to Libby or to any of his team or members of the labels because he was scared of what the lyrics would expose, petrified of the truth they would tell.

Leaning his guitar carefully against the arm of the sofa, he quickly scribbled the few lines he had so far onto a blank page, still unsure of how he would finish the phrase.

He leafed through his tattered notebook, flicking past pages of doodles, scribbles, stray lyrics and song titles, completed verses and tattoo ideas. Everything he had written in the last two months or so… he couldn’t use any of it. They were good, he thought, he was proud of them, but they belonged to him; he wasn’t ready to share the vulnerability and the pain that they disclosed. A page before the one he had just written on had the beginnings of two separate songs that he had begun to write and then abandoned, ashamed at the unabashed truth behind the lyrics.

_The script was written and I could not change a thing_  
I want to rip it all to shreds and start again  
One day I'll come into your world and get it right  
I'll say we're better off together here tonight

 _I want you here with me_  
Like how I pictured it  
So I don't have to keep imagining

And then the spidery black writing had trailed off, the stark honesty of the words too overwhelming.

Below this was another set of lyrics, from just a few days before, similarly abandoned half way through:

_We haven't spoke since you went away_ __  
Comfortable silence is so overrated  
Why won't you ever be the first one to break?  
Even the phone misses your call, by the way

It wasn’t even subtle, Harry thought to himself as he deciphered the words through the many ink blobs, scribbles and scratchings-out. Frustrated and uncomfortable at being forced to face the stark honesty of his feelings in the daylight, Harry slammed the book shut, getting up and pacing backwards and forwards and cracking his knuckles.

His gaze landed on his phone again. Liam had said that he would call again soon, but Harry needed to talk to him _now,_ needed to know _now._ Ignoring the snide voice inside his head telling him how pathetically _gone_ he was, he redialled Liam’s number, and forced himself to sit still, a palm pressed forcefully on his knee to stop it from jiggling anxiously.

“’Ello?” came Liam’s voice, “Oh Harry…” His voice sounded almost tearful.

“What’s going on, Li?” Harry asked urgently, his heart racing.

“Oh _Harry….”_


	7. I don't know how to make it stop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!  
> Harry comes to save Louis. That's it, that's the summary.  
> Not really any notes on this one, just that the next will be dramadramadrama, so enjoy the calm before the storm.
> 
> If you're enjoying this, please share, leave kudos or comments as it makes me feel like Im not just shouting into the abyss and motivates me to continue.
> 
> Lots of Love,   
> P  
> x

_You are not hidden_  
There's never been a moment you were forgotten  
You are not hopeless  
Though you have been broken, your innocence stolen

_I hear you whisper underneath your breath  
I hear your SOS, your SOS_

_Rescue_

_Lauren Daigle_

“Liam, what is going on?” Harry repeated desperately, “Is Louis okay?”

On the other end of the line, Liam takes a deep breath to collect himself.

“Yeah, he’s going to be okay. Was just a bit of a shock, is all.”

Harry waited impatiently for Liam to continue, gnawing subconsciously at the nail of his right index finger.

“It took us another twenty minutes after we spoke on the phone for me and Niall to find him, but that was enough time for him to…” he trailed off.

“To _what_ , Liam, for gods sake!” Harry urged anxiously.

“He was absolutely _gone,_ Harry, like I’ve seen him bad, but this was… I’m not sure he even recognized us to be honest. I’m pretty sure there was some cocaine mixed up in there too at the very least, if not something worse. I don’t know how, but he had fallen, obviously into a table or something, and there was a massive gash in his forehead… it was bleeding everywhere,” Liam winced audibly.

“So, what did you do?” Harry asked, his heart still thumping wildly against his ribcage, although slightly less panicked then before. The way that Liam had made it sound, he had thought that maybe….

“We took him to the hospital straight away, though it was complicated because we obviously didn’t want to call any attention to him in case the paps got hold of the story and blow it up. Management would have had our heads; they’re already pissed off enough as it is… Anyway, they had to pump his stomach, but the head wound wasn’t bad, just needed a few stitches.” Liam took a deep breath. He too seemed to be calming down a little now. “We brought him back to the hotel this morning and he’s resting now. Niall and I insisted to management that they cancel tonight’s show, which obviously they’re not all that pleased about.”

Harry breathed his own sigh of relief. It wasn’t as bad as he had feared.

“I’m glad he’s safe,” said Harry finally, “And thank you for telling me.”

“It’ okay, H,” Liam replied, his tone desolate, “I just don’t know what to do anymore,” he admitted quietly, as if in confession, “I really don’t know how to help him.”

“What’s been going on?” Harry asked, his tone gentle now. He knew that none of this was Liam or Niall’s fault and he was conscious of the toll that all of this took on them both - it made no sense for them to be snapping at each other, just because they were both out of their minds with worry.

“Tell me what’s been going on, Li.”

Liam sighed heavily into the phone, as Harry heard the sound of another familiar voice coming from his end. “Niall’s just come in,” Liam informs him, “Wait a sec, I’ll put us on speaker.”

“Hi, Harry,” comes a voice that is unmistakably Niall’s, though it lacks its usual cheer and bounce. Instead, his tone is flat, dead.

“Hi Nialler,” Harry greets.

“So basically,” Liam begins, “He’s been like this for a while now, you know...”

“I’d say just under two years or so,” Niall chipped in.

“Yeah, sounds about right, anyway,” Liam continued, “The partying thing isn’t new at all, and it’s not like it’s getting worse or anything, I’d say it’s always been more or less at this level.”

“We don’t think he’s an addict or anything,” assured Niall hurriedly, “Because he doesn’t drink much outside of that at all, and when we’re all having just one or two, he doesn’t have a problem with it. It’s just every now and then, maybe once or twice a week he gets into this weird space where he’ll barely speak to us and just drinks and drinks until he blacks out.”

“We’ve tried everything,” added Liam, “But when he’s like that, he won’t listen to anyone. Truth be told, the only one he’s ever listened to is Lottie really and then…”

“You,” Niall finished for him.

Harry remained silent, trying to process all of this information, trying to make some sense of it all.

“And it’s not just that, since the start of this tour he’s been different.”

“We don’t know that, Liam,” interjected Niall, “He could have been like that for _months_ while we were recording or on break. We can’t possibly know how he was every moment of everyday, we weren’t with him. It’s different now that we’re living out of each other’s pockets again.”

“Uhh, little lost guys,” Harry interrupted, “What do you mean, he’s been ‘different’?”

There was silence on the other end. Harry suspected that they were probably having a wordless conversation to determine who would have to do the explaining.

Eventually, Liam spoke.

“There are days, usually on our days off, or when we’re travelling, where he’ll just disappear for hours, won’t answer any messages or calls, and then when he does eventually show up, he looks exhausted and miserable and off in another world. We don’t think he’s doing anything or going anywhere shady or anything like that,” Liam added quickly, “I think… I think he just really isn’t okay. I’ve told you before that he has a lot of problems, a lot of pain in his past… it’s like it’s always been worse than we thought and he’s starting to find it too difficult to hide it.”

“We’ll come to his room sometimes and he’ll just be there, in bed,” Niall adds sadly, “He doesn’t want to explore, doesn’t want to go for lunch or crash golf carts or watch movies or do much of anything really.”

Harry tries to reconcile this image of Louis with the one he has gotten to know, the one that passes through his head a million times a day. Yes, when they had been spending a lot of time together, Louis had had the occasional day when he had been closed off and downcast, but Harry would usually just curl up beside him and rub soothing circles into the back of his hand, as they watched shitty TV, and by the time Louis left, Harry would usually have been able to make him smile - even if just a little. Harry had never asked what was wrong on these days; he knew how private and averse to emotional vulnerability Louis was, so he had just kept him company, and by the next day, he was usually back to his energetic, sassy self again, teasing Harry for his eclectic tastes, making ridiculous jokes and smiling easily.

Harry felt the familiar ache in his heart that always resurfaced whenever he thought or heard about Louis suffering.

“So are you saying this is the first time he’s been like this?” Harry asked eventually.

A pause. And then: “Yes and no. We think it’s recent but it’s possible that he’s been like this for a while and we haven’t found out because we weren’t together every minute like we are now.”

Harry felt immeasurably exhausted all of a sudden.

“I saw him a lot – not everyday – and he was down sometimes, something like you’ve described but never to that extent.” He heaved a painful sigh and then murmured, more to himself than the others, “It must be me.”

“What, Harry, no!” Niall insisted, “What are you talking about?”

“If he wasn’t like that before he met me, and he’s like that now, then it follows logically that it must be, at least in part, my fault,” Harry explained. Every word he spoke felt like another blow and yet he knew them to be true.

“Harry, don’t be ridiculous,” came Liam’s voice. He paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully, “What I said to you all that time ago… I’m sorry for that. I can’t help feeling that how you feel is partly my fault. But honestly, I think you’re good for Louis, Harry.”

“But-“

“Harry, Louis had all of these issues before you two met. Just because none of us ever _witnessed_ those days before doesn’t mean that they’re completely new. And besides,” Liam took a deep breath, “I think he’s been better with you around.”

“That doesn’t make any sense Liam,” replied Harry in frustration, “If I remember correctly, I was still picking Louis up off the floor of every party we went to.”

“Yeah,” Niall chipped in, “But he was going out like once a week maximum, before that he would go two, three times. He’d take home a different guy or girl every time – he knew how bad that could be for his public image, how much trouble he’d get in with management, but he didn’t give a shit - he was being completely reckless. But I don’t think I can even remember him getting with anyone for _months_ now.”

Harry didn’t really see this as solid evidence of anything; just because Louis had been partying a little less hard recently didn’t prove anything; the fact still stood, these depressive spells that the boys had been describing seemed to be entirely recent.

Liam seemed to know where Harry’s train of thought was going, and stopped him, “Harry, know that I don’t say this easily, yeah – because I’m protective of him and of you too now I guess but…He’s like the best version of himself when he’s around, you know? He’s sarcastic without being overly harsh, he smiles so much more, and he isn’t looking over his shoulder every few seconds. It reminds me of how he was a few years back.”

Harry didn’t know where to even begin responding; felt completely and utterly overwhelmed.

“So we think,” continued Liam, “that we need you here, Harry.”

“What?” Harry asked, taken aback.

“He won’t listen to us, Harry, and we’ve tried everything. We can physically see him in pain but nothing we do seems to get through to him at all. Can you come?”

“To Portugal?” Harry asks, dumbly.

“Yeah.”

“Errr… when?”

“As soon as you can,” Liam answers hopefully. “Our team will cover all the costs of the flights and everything else,” he continues, “Please just come.”

Harry didn’t need to think about it really. He had a gig in a few days’ time but aside from that he was mostly just writing. And Louis was in another country, scared and miserable. It was a no-brainer.

“Alright, I’ll come. I’ll try and book the soonest flight out.”

“Thank you, Harry,” breathed Liam.

Harry hung up. He was feeling numb, maybe due to the sheer deluge of information that he had just been submerged in, or maybe because he was just holding back all the emotion as best he could. Maybe after a while, the bulwark would come crashing down, all the fear and grief and other uncomfortable feelings spilling out uncontrollably. But, for now, he had a job to do. He logged onto his BA account, and quickly searched for flights for Lisbon leaving that day. The earliest one with seats available was at 4pm, just 4 hours from now. He clicked confirm and print and went to throw some things haphazardly into a travel bag, shooting a message to Libby as he went, telling her that he had to leave and promising her a full explanation later.

\------

Louis felt itchy. He wanted to go out on stage, wanted to expend some of his pent-up energy and frustration. Liam and Niall had insisted they cancel the concert tonight because of his head or whatever, but Louis thought they were just overreacting. The two of them had just left his suite after insisting on staying with him to play Fifa for a few hours. He knew that they cared, knew that they were doing it because they were worried about him, and he was grateful for it, he was. He had just found it difficult to look at them, to be around them when he should be hanging his head in shame for fucking up and disappointing them yet again.

Despite his disgruntled petulance at being made to rest, Louis was starting to accept that it was probably for the best, given the incessant throbbing in his head. The subtitled version of The Dark Knight Rises had just finished, so he flicked between the channels, trying to find something decent in a language he understood.

Just then, he heard a light knock at the door. As far as he could remember, Louis hadn’t ordered room service and it was unlikely to be Niall or Liam again. Pushing himself up off the four-poster, he headed towards the door of the suite, and opened the door.

“You should be more careful Lou, I could have been a cat burglar.”

A pale, gangly, green-eyed man stood grinning in the doorway, holding a misshapen carry-on in one hand and propping himself up against the doorway with the other.

“Harry?” Louis asked, surprised.

“It’s meee!” Harry trilled obnoxiously, and Louis couldn’t help the massive grin that spread across his cheeks. “C’mere you great oaf,’ he grumbled, tugging Harry into a tight hug, breathing in that familiar scent that was exclusively Harry, soaking in the warmth from the taller man’s body. He was like a human portable heater, this one. He pulled away smiling, “Do you want to come in?”

If Harry knew about anything that had happened recently, he didn’t let it show, something for which Louis felt eternally grateful. He noticed with a pang in his chest that he couldn't quite identify that in the few weeks since he had last seen him, Harry’s hair had grown again to the point where it would hang in his eyes if it weren’t for the silk scarf tying back his curls. It reminded Louis painfully of the first time he had tied Harry’s hair back for him, that serene day in the music room before they had kissed, and Louis had subsequently gone and fucked everything up. He winced. He knew he owed Harry an apology, if not for literally just _everything_ – all the many ways he had treated him like shit – then at least for going radio silence on him for the last three weeks.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” he said quietly, as he sat down on one of the overstuffed armchairs.

Harry sat beside him on the opposite chair, his face a picture of puzzlement. “What for?”

“You know what for,” Louis sighed. He fucking _hated_ apologies. “For being an utter twat and not replying to any of your messages.”

“But you already apologized for that,” Harry contested, confused, “When you called.”

“Yeah, I just…” Louis trailed off.

“It’s _okay_ Louis," Harry assured him, resting a hand on Louis' knee and squeezing gently.

They stayed like that for a while, sprawled in the hotel armchairs chatting lightly about anything and everything. Louis felt like the moment Harry had entered through the suite door, that an immense weight had been lifted off of his chest. Harry was just as silly and charming as ever. He still did that thing with his eyes where he made you feel that he was truly listening to you, and that you were the most important person in the world at that very moment. He still squawked with his mouth gaping open when Louis made a joke, still popped a dimple when he smiled.

After the day of sombre expressions and trying to pretend that everything was fine, it felt so refreshing to sit here talking to Harry as though no time had passed whatsoever.When almost two hours had passed and Harry had still made no reference whatsoever towards the massive gash splitting Louis’ forehead, Louis figured he should probably bite the bullet.

“So I’m assuming Niall and Liam called you here?” he asked, one eyebrow lifted.

“Uhm…” Harry’s face turned a shade of scarlet that would be unattractive on literally _anyone_ else but was just endearing on him. Louis would take that as a yes, then.

“I know you don’t want my pity,” Harry began carefully, “And that’s not why I’m here, okay? I’m here because, yeah, I heard about what happened, and I was worried. You’re an adult, Lou, and you’re strong, I know you can take care of yourself… but I’m here because I lo… because I care about you and if I can make it a little better than why not.” His emerald eyes were round and bright with sincerity and he spoke hesitantly as if he was scared Louis would shout at him.

“Thank you for saying that, Harry, I’m glad you’re here,” Louis replied eventually, meaning every word.

“And if… if you ever want to talk about… stuff or whatever, then I’m here ok? No judgement. And if you don’t…. that’s ok too.” Harry shrugged shyly.

Louis loved Harry. He _loved_ him. He had known for a while now, but when Harry said things like this, no pity or disappointment in his voice, just a genuine, unconditional pledge to be there for him, it hit him again with full force, as if he were realizing it for the very first time. This beautiful, _beautiful_ boy, with his ridiculous blouses, his flyway hair, his lopsided smile and unabashed cackle of a laugh was far too good for Louis. He would understand one day that his hope and belief in Louis were misguided; like everyone else, he too would learn that it wasn’t worth the trouble of reassembling the pieces every time he fell apart. But for now, Louis thought to himself, he was going to let himself be selfish and enjoy this. He knew what he was doing was wrong, but there was something addictive about being in Harry’s presence, something that buoyed him, that made him forget about everything else that was dragging him below the surface of the water.

“Thank you, Haz,” he said softly, reaching a hand out briefly to cover Harry’s and squeezed, “I really do appreciate it, and I appreciate you coming.”

“Of course,” Harry grinned mischievously, “I wasn’t going to turn down a free trip to Portugal, was I?”

Louis just laughed as Harry checked his watch. “I’m kinda exhausted Lou, so I think I better head to my room.” He stood and stretched his arms up to the ceiling, a sliver of delicate porcelain skin emerging from below his t-shirt, his back cracking and popping loudly.

Suddenly, Louis felt panicky. He didn’t want Harry to go. For the first time in God knows how long, he was feeling like himself again, like maybe he wasn't drowning, and he didn't want to go back under again. As Harry turned to leave, Louis grabbed his forearm.

Harry turned back towards him, a question writ across his eyebrows.

“What’s up, Lou?” he asked gently.

“How long are you staying?” Louis asked, and he was embarrassed to hear the note of desperation in his voice.

“As long as you need me to,” Harry responded enigmatically and left, waving a little goodbye over his shoulder as he went.

\------

Almost a week later, Harry hadn’t expected to still be here on tour with the boys, sitting beside Louis on the tour bus as they crossed the French border into Northern Spain. Louis was fast asleep, his head unconsciously resting on Harry’s shoulder, his breathing deep and even. Harry was struck once again by how young and how vulnerable Louis looked when he slept.

“Lads, we’ll be arriving in Barcelona in about an hour or so,” came the voice of Jim, their driver, through the intercom.

Niall and Liam made sounds of recognition and returned to the film they were engrossed in. Harry didn’t wake Louis, preferred to let him sleep a little longer. Louis’ dark eye-rings had lessened over the last few days, but Harry knew he must still be exhausted from the show the night before in Nîmes. He gently ran his fingers through Louis’ hair. It was soft and messy, golden tufts lying naturally. Harry loved it like this, no gel or product, just a soft fringe falling across Louis’ eyes.

The last few days hadn’t been quite like rewinding the clock and stepping back into the weeks before in Harry’s apartment as he had secretly hoped. Louis had seemed quieter, needier, more readily reaching out for the comfort of Harry’s touch. For most of the week he had been fine, almost upbeat at times and occasionally sassy. And on stage… on stage, he was an absolute powerhouse; he radiated energy and light; he didn’t stop prancing around the stage, drenching Liam with water and interacting with the fans. His voice was strong and clear and projected magnificently around the massive stadiums the boys were playing. Watching Louis perform was captivating, there was no other word for it. But sometimes, when he came off stage at the end of the show, drenched in sweat and still jittery with adrenaline, and re-entered the dressing room where Harry would wait with Lou and Caroline, Harry could see the smile slip from his face at once; as though he had just been waiting to reach safety before he could let the mask drop.

He had known almost since he reconnected with Louis all those months back that there was a great deal of suffering and heartbreak hiding behind his sharp tongue and glittering eyes. He had realized straight away that this was not quite the same Louis that he had met all those years ago at summer camp when he himself was 15, naïve and only just figuring out who he was - the Louis Tomlinson who was his first real crush. It wasn’t the same Louis in bright red skinny jeans and braces, who couldn’t help but play the class clown, who was loud and intensely affectionate and demonstrative. It wasn’t the same Louis who occasionally had a broken wrist, but who couldn’t give less of a shit what people had to say about it, his wardrobe or him for that matter. It wasn’t the same Louis who had described himself proudly as _flamboyant._

The Louis that Harry had met that January night at the party was still breathtakingly beautiful, still had the same earnest baby blue eyes and cheekbones that could cut ice. But this Louis was harder, sharper; his young face already etched with worry and frown lines. He held himself differently, walked differently, spoke differently and it always seemed as though he was self-monitoring each and every little movement or gesture to ensure they kept in line with this different way of moving, of _being._ He was still witty and silly, but like his features, his humour was sharper now, far more cynical.

While Harry did know about part of the motivation for these changes, Louis was reticent to let everything out. Harry knew he should be grateful for what Louis _had_ been willing to share; he had been told multiple times that Louis had shared more with Harry in those few months than he usually did with anyone. But he still ached to know, yearned to find a way he could actually help Louis properly, instead of hovering around to be a hand to hold or a shoulder to cry on.

When an hour later they had finally reached their hotel, Liam and Niall said their quiet ‘good-night’s’ and headed up to their respective rooms.

“Hey, Lou,” Harry whispered softly, shaking Louis a little, “We’re here.”

Louis blinked slowly, his eyes still heavy with sleep.

“I’m staying here,” he mumbled, and nuzzled back into Harry’s neck.

Harry looked helplessly up at Paul who had just come in to say good-night. The older man just smiled at Harry, nodded towards Louis and said, “He sometimes likes to sleep on the bus. I think with all this moving around he likes a place that feels familiar, you know?”

“Errr…. So what do I do then?” Harry asked uncertainly.

“Stay?” Paul said kindly, “If you’re okay with that.”

Harry nodded and gave Paul a little wave as he stepped off the bus, leaving the two of them alone. He didn’t want to disturb Louis again, but he knew that if he didn’t move him to one of the bunk beds, then they would both be waking up with stiff necks and achy backs the next morning.

“Hey, Lou,” he murmured again.

Louis just nuzzled deeper into Harry’s chest. Harry rolled his eyes fondly. He could tell that Louis was awake from the change in his breathing, but indulged him anyway, hooking his arms under Louis’ knees and lifting him bridal style onto the nearest bunk. As he withdrew and began to move away, Louis’ arm shot out, gripping his forearm, all pretence of being asleep abandoned.

He looked up at Harry pleadingly through his eyelashes.

“Stay?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

And Harry, who was powerless to ever say no to Louis, nodded, swallowing past the knot in his throat and curled up behind him. Louis scooted back so that his back was pressed against Harry’s chest, no doubt chasing the warmth that Harry’s body was giving off. Harry draped an arm carefully across Louis’ waist. Louis didn’t tense up, but placed his smaller hand over Harry’s where it rested.

Within minutes, Louis’ breathing was slow and even again, indicating that he was properly asleep again.

Harry lay there with this incredible, complex boy in his arms and thought that maybe if he held on tight enough, some of Louis’ pain would seep into Harry’s body so that he could carry the burden instead.

Before he felt sleep begin to drag him under, Harry pressed a tender kiss to the back of Louis’ neck and whispered, “I love you,” under his breath.


	8. Fire and Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm afraid this is quite a short one because I originally had one massive chapter that I ended up having to split in half. The next one should be up pretty soon.
> 
> Summary: H and L finally figure their shit out, praise be.
> 
> I'm estimating that this fic is going to be about 12 chapters + epilogue and should hopefully all be up by the end of January. Please leave comments or kudos if you're enjoying it!
> 
> All the love  
> P  
> x

_You tell me that you're hurt, it's all in vain_  
_But I can see your heart can love again_  
 _And I remember you laughing_  
 _So let's just laugh again_

_Through the Dark_

_One Direction_

Louis was jolted out of a peaceful sleep by the sharp trill of his phone. He opened his eyes blearily and found the bus already flooded with sunlight and the bed empty beside him. He tried to swallow his disappointment and accepted the call.

“Ello?” he rasped.

“Louis?” It was Niall’s voice, far too chipper.

“Hi mate, why are you calling so goddamn early?”

Niall snorted. “It’s not early Louis, it’s already 10 am.”

“Exactly my point,” Louis grumbled, “’s the bloody crack of dawn.”

Niall laughed good-heartedly. Louis rubbed a hand across his eyes and sat up properly. While he would have liked to stay in bed for longer, he had to admit that he hadn’t felt so well-rested in months.

“Anyway,” Niall continued cheerily, “We need to be at the venue for sound check an hour earlier than we thought, problem with the staging or something,” he said, completely unconcerned.

“Ok mate, I’ll be there,” Louis sighed.

“Bye Tommo, see you at 12.”

The line clicked and Louis got up reluctantly to throw on some clothes and make himself presentable. Just then he heard the door of the bus, and turned, expecting to find Paul, and instead saw Harry, fully dressed in a loose floral-patterned shirt and impossibly tight black jeans. Louis averted his eyes from the smooth expanse of tattooed chest visible above the barely buttoned shirt.

“Morning Lou,” Harry smiled, dimples on full display. He was carrying two brown paper bags and a cup holder with two large steaming paper cups.

“Tea,” he supplied, handing Louis a cup and sitting down on one of the seats opposite the bunk beds and peeking in each paper bag in turn. “A plain croissant for me,” he continued, putting one of the bags to the side and passing the other to Louis, “And a chocolate croissant for you.”

Louis accepted his tea and pastry gratefully. He hadn’t realized before, but he was absolutely starving.

“Thanks, Harry,” he murmured.

Louis took a bite of his still-warm croissant and sighed with exaggerated pleasure.

“Good?” Harry smirked, an eyebrow cocked.

“ _Suhh_ good,” Louis mumbled through a mouthful of pastry. Swallowing, he added, “Not as good as yours though.”

On the few occasions were Louis had stayed over in Harry’s spare room, Harry had always been awake before him, waltzing around the kitchen in a t-shirt and boxers and cooking up a storm. It had been something different each time; a spinach and gruyère omelette, a full English, blueberry pancakes and one day Harry had baked his own fresh chocolate croissants from scratch. The heavenly aroma of those pastries baking in Harry’s oven were firmly and permanently imprinted in Louis’ memory.

Harry’s cheeks pinkened a little but he shook his head, saying nothing. Louis had noticed that Harry wasn’t particularly good at accepting compliments.

They ate in silence, both of their minds seemingly elsewhere. Neither one of them made any reference to the night before or the fact that Louis had fallen asleep tucked tightly in Harry’s arms.

“I’ve got to go in early, about an hour or so, summat about the stage,” Louis said eventually.

“Oh, ok,” Harry blinked, seemingly retrieved from his far-off reverie, “Should I come with you?

Louis frowned. Harry had accompanied the boys to almost all of the sound-checks so far, had watched almost all of their shows from backstage; why Harry would actually be asking _now -_ considering it was a sort of established pattern by this point - was beyond him.

“Um, if you’d like,” replied Louis, chewing his lip uncomfortably. There was some weird tension between them this morning and he had no idea where it was coming from. Harry nodded, taking the rubbish and chucking it in the bin under the counter, still not looking at Louis.

“Harry, are you okay?” Louis asked, confused still and starting to worry that he had done something wrong. He racked his brains but failed to come up with anything in particular. If Harry hadn’t run or taken offence at something Louis had said or done before then, then Louis was at a complete loss as to what he could have possibly done that was worse than all the previous shit Harry had barely blinked an eye at.

“Yeah, I’m fine Louis,” Harry said softly, looking briefly at Louis and then away again. Louis decided to drop it. There wasn’t really time now to get into anything anyway; he needed to finish getting ready and start making his way to the venue. They were playing at Palau St Jordi that night, which stood at the top of a massive hill and was surrounded by a popular tourist area, which meant he would have to set off with some extra time.

“Alright then.” He nodded, and turned his back, making his bed haphazardly and hoping that maybe Harry would tell him what was going on eventually. 

\------

There was a loud crash as Liam knocked over one of the stands, followed by frantic apologies and more shouting. The stage at this venue was far smaller than they were used to, and there had already been several accidents and breakages so far that afternoon. Paul, and their tour manager Charlotte, were both getting increasingly frustrated; shouting directions at the boys and the band over the din and trying to fix all the mishaps to very little avail. The boys were equally as frustrated. Needless to say, things were _not_ going well.

Harry sighed deeply and looked away, not caring to bear witness to this trainwreck. His phone buzzed at precisely that moment and he fished in his pocket for it, quickly reading the message that popped up on the screen.

**Hey H! Haven’t heard from you in like 3 days –**

**Is everything all right? How’s it going with L?**

**X**

He thought of just blowing Kendall off, giving her a generic answer for why he hadn’t been in touch, but honestly, he knew that he needed to talk to her, for his own sanity.

_Not great. Don’t know if I can do this anymore to be honest._

**Shit. I’m calling you now.**

Harry quickly made his way out of the main concert hall and into a little side passage where he would be able to hear her better and sank to the ground, his back resting against the wall. His phone rang shrilly just a moment later, and Harry picked up immediately.

“Babe, what’s wrong? Is he okay?”

Harry rubbed his temples, unsure of exactly what he should say or even where he should start.

“So, you know the whole story really, it’s not like anything much has changed as such, It’s just…” he sighed, “He’s been better, I think, these last few days, at least that’s what Liam’s said to me. And I’m happy, I’m so happy he’s doing better, I am.”

“But?” Kendall prompted.

“I feel like I shouldn’t be here,” Harry blurted out, finally voicing the thought that had been running through his head in a perpetual cloying cycle ever since he had woken up that morning with Louis’ warm body tucked tightly in his arms and his feathery golden hair tickling his nose.

“I’m not following,” Kendall said, “If he’s doing better, then why shouldn’t you be there? And anyway, you said you wanted to be there.”

“And I do, I _do_ want to be here. I care about him more than… god, just _so much_ … and I want to be here for him but I feel like me being here when he is so emotionally vulnerable, it’s not right. It just… doesn’t sit right, you know? I don’t ever want it to be like I’m taking advantage.” The last bit he almost whispered, his voice tiny as he confessed what had really been worrying him since that morning.

There was a long pause and when Kendall finally spoke, he voice was tired, but kind.

“Look Harry, I think… I think you’re overthinking this. His friends called you, practically _begging_ you to come out to be with them and you agreed, not out of pity or any weird sort of malicious intentions - which I can assure you Harry, you did _not_ have. You went, and you’ve been looking after him and providing him with the comfort he needs, and somehow he’s doing better. I don’t see how that is a bad thing at all, really, and I don’t see how you could be seen as taking advantage, unless you pounced on him or someth- wait, you didn’t did you?”

“No, of course not,” Harry assured her quickly.

“Well then, you need to stop worrying about it Harry. You’re being a good friend, a better friend than most people deserve and better than most people have, I might add,” she finished firmly.

The line was quiet for a while as Harry mulled over her words. What she had said… it made sense objectively, Harry could recognise that. He still felt so uneasy though…

“Out of curiosity,” she asked, breaking the silence once more, “What brought this on?”

“He… last night he wanted me to sleep with – no, not that,” he added quickly, before she could get the wrong idea, “-he was in bed and asked me to stay and we spooned. That’s all it was, it wasn’t sexual at all and he was the one pulling me in… but it just felt too intimate you know? Like I was unfairly taking it from him because he was he was too emotionally vulnerable to really make decisions.”

Kendall didn’t interrupt, just waited as Harry took a deep breath and continued.

“I think the problem is that it meant something different for me than it did for him and that just feels wrong and unfair to him.”

Kendall sighed. “Again, Harry, I think you’re being way too hard on yourself about this. You’re being selfless not selfish, and I don’t think you can see that for yourself. I know I might not know you as well as some of your other friends or whatever, but I'm almost 100% certain that you don't have a selfish bone in your entire body.”

Harry didn’t have an answer for her; didn’t have an answer for himself either. He glanced at his watch. It was quarter past two and there was slightly less noise coming from the stage, so he assumed that they must be finishing soon or breaking for lunch at the very least.

“So, are you going to stay then?” Kendall asked finally.

“I-yeah, I think I need to. He’s so, he’s…. he’s so wonderful you know, he’s like this amazing person and he just doesn’t see it…”

“Yes Harry,” Kendall interrupted dryly, “You’ve already waxed lyrical about how perfect he is…”

“What I mean is, he doesn’t deserve this, you know? And if it’s true that me being here is helping even a little bit, then I’ll stay, god knows of course I’ll stay.”

_I’d do anything for him_ Harry thought to himself, but he didn’t say it out loud. He was pretty sure that Kendall knew that anyway.

“You really love him, don’t you Harry,” she asked gently, reading his mind in that uncanny way of hers.

“Yeah,” Harry exhaled. No point denying it now.

“Well, for what it’s worth, I think it’s good that you’re staying.”

“Yeah,” Harry replied, “He just… it’s fucked up you know? I hate to see how much he’s hurting, it isn’t fair.”

“Well then, I think you have your answer. Good to talk to you, H, don’t overthink everything so much and don’t be such a stranger all right?”

“Okay. Miss you.”

“Miss you too. Bye for now.”

She hung up and Harry pocketed his phone. It was definitely much quieter now, and he realized that the boys might be wondering where he had gotten off to, so he stood up to make his way back to the main concert hall. As he lifted his gaze, he saw a small figure directly in front of him, hunched in on itself.

Harry met the shadow’s eyes. They were a bright cobalt blue, and they were glistening with tears.

\-----

Louis rounded the corner of the passage and finally spotted Harry, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. He was about to call out for him when he realized he was talking on the phone. He approached slowly, so as not to startle him and then froze in his tracks when Harry’s muffled words reached him.

“…fucked up you know? I hate to see how much he’s hurting, it isn’t fair.”

The voice on the other end seemed to say something, Harry nodding his head.

“Okay. Miss you.”

Louis stood there, glued to the spot, completely unable to move or speak. He felt as though the air to his windpipe had been cut off.

Harry looked up to meet Louis’ eyes and his own widened almost comically.

“Lou-”

Harry reached out, but Louis was running, running as far away as he could, bile rising in his throat, his heart pounding deafeningly in his ears. On the left of the passageway, he saw the symbol for the men’s bathroom and dashed inside, sliding down the back of the door and collapsing into a crumpled heap on the floor.

_Stop crying_ , he thought to himself furiously, _you’ve got to stop crying._ He took a few deep breaths, calming his breathing as best he could, and wiped angrily at the residue of the tears pooling beneath his eyes. Crossing his arms across his chest, he ducked his forhead into the crook of his elbow. Harry’s deep voice saying ‘ _fucked up’_ ran through his head over and over, replaying relentlessly on a never-ending loop. He had thought that Harry had been different, that he was there because he cared, not because he thought that Louis was some useless fucked-up object of pity, just like everyone else. It had taken him so long to just accept that Harry wanted to be around him and now… And now Louis had no idea what to think anymore.

\-----

Harry saw Louis duck into a bathroom on the side of the corridor and slowed to a walk. He needed to talk to him, couldn’t leave him thinking the wrong thing. His heart was thumping wildly, beating out erratic patterns against his ribcage, and his mouth felt impossibly dry. He wasn’t sure how much of the conversation Louis had overheard but he needed to explain. He gave himself a few seconds to calm his breathing and his whirling thoughts, and then pulled open the bathroom door.

Louis had obviously been resting his back against the door because he slid backwards onto Harry’s shins as he it opened. Immediately sensing who it was he pulled back, scrambling away from him and getting to his feet.

“Get out, Harry,” he growled in warning. When Harry met his eyes, he saw no aggression or malice there. Maybe it would have hurt less to see anger or hate, but what he saw there was so much worse: betrayal and pain. He just looked broken and so, so tired.

“Please, Lou, _please_ just listen to me, okay?” he pleaded. He wasn’t above begging at this point.

“Why?” Louis sneered, but there was little heat behind it, just an aching sadness and disappointment. “Why should I listen to _you_? I thought… god knows, I thought you were here because you _wanted_ to be, because – I dunno - you _cared_ or summat, but it turns out you’re just like everyone else. I've been so fucking stupid...”

His eyes flashed, and he clenched his fists, trying to stop the shaking. “You think I’m this pathetic failure, just like the rest of them. So how did it happen then? Liam and Niall call you up to come and babysit so that they’d have a little break from dealing with their fucked-up bandmate?” he spat.

He was angry now, Harry could see it clearly in the set of his shoulders and the rage that laced each word. He had thought this would be better, easier to see than the hurt and disappointment that had clouded his eyes before, but as it turned out, it was equally as bad.

“It’s not _like_ that Louis, I-”

“Are they paying you or summat?” he sneered.

Harry gasped, speechless for a moment. “What? No, _of course_ not Louis, what the hell?”

 _What the fuck,_ Harry thought. Did Louis really think so little of him?

“Then what is it?” Louis yelled, his voice tinged with desperation.

“I _don’t_ think you’re pathetic Louis,” Harry tried to explain, straining to keep his voice from cracking, “I’m not here because you need a babysitter, or because I’m getting paid or because I pity you...”

“Then why _are_ you here? Tell me Harry, because to be quite honest, I don’t understand. If you’re not here because you’re being paid, or because you think I’m a fuck up, or because you have some sort of bloody hero-complex, then _why are you still here_?” 

“Fuck, Louis, how can you be so…can’t you see?” Harry's voice broke, trembling with emotion, “Jesus Louis, I’m here because _I love you_. I’ve been in love with you for _months_ now. And I’m here because I care about you and because I don’t want you to see you in pain. When Liam called and told me what was going on, I couldn’t just sit on my ass in another country while you I knew you were over here, hurting!”

Louis had frozen against the wall, his mouth gaping open, his fists still clenched tight. It would have been a funny picture, had it not been for the tears streaming down both their faces.

Then, as if he had snapped suddenly, Louis pushed past Harry and tried to make his way toward the door of the bathroom.

“Are you… is this you saying you don’t feel the same way?” Harry asked desperately, his voice broken and barely audible now.

Because if it was, Harry thought, he could live with it. Maybe not right away, maybe he’d need a little time. But if that’s all this was, then it was ok. As long as Louis was okay, as long as he understood that none of them hated him or pitied him or…

Louis paused, his hand still curled tightly around the door handle, his body shaking. He turned slowly back to face Harry.

“No,” Louis yelled, his voice cracking in the effort not to cry, “Don’t you understand? I’m toxic, Harry. You’ll think you can fix me but all I’ll do is drag you down and fuck you up, and then you’ll blame me for it.” Tears shimmered in his eyes again, cobalt blue stark against bloodshot red. He wiped them away furiously, frustrated at his inability to hold back his pain.

“No, Louis, I – I would never blame you, I-”

But Louis had already turned on his heel and walked out the room, the door slamming behind him. Harry thought he could physically hear the sound of his heart cracking in two.

Harry stood frozen in place for a moment. He didn’t know what to do, how to make Louis understand that he didn’t blame him, that _none_ of them hated him or thought he was toxic or any of the awful shit he seemed to think about himself. How could he make him understand that none of these things were true when they had been engrained in his brain for so long? All he knew was that he couldn’t just stand there alone in the deserted bathroom, he needed to get to Louis, to try again. He would try again and again, if that's what it would take. He would keep trying, forever.

Harry turned on his heel and rushed after Louis' retreating back. He didn’t have to go very far. Louis was crouched down against the wall of the passageway barely a few metres away from the bathroom, his body wracked with sobs, finally letting the tears he had tried to hold back fall down his cheeks unimpeded.

He walked cautiously towards the small, vulnerable figure and crouched down opposite him, reaching out a hand to gently lift Louis’ chin. His blue eyes were puffy and bloodshot, and yet he was still so unbelievably beautiful.

“Lou, I didn’t come here for any other reason than that I care about you, okay? I don’t know why that’s so hard to believe. Even if I wasn’t in love with you, I would still be here, because I’m your friend and that’s what friends _do._ For the record, I don’t think you’re a fuck up or a burden. I think you’re pretty great, actually.” He smiled softly, hoping that at least some of what he was saying was getting through to Louis.

Louis didn’t say anything, just looked at Harry with those piercing blue eyes, still curled into himself as though trying to protect himself from any other potential pain.

“I don’t know how much you heard but… when I said it was fucked up, I didn’t mean _you_ , I meant the situation. I meant that it’s fucked up that you’re being worked to the bloody bone out here, and that no one is bothering to take care of you or your mental health. I meant that it’s fucked up that your management has tried to make you feel like less of a person because of your sexuality, made you feel ashamed of something that you should _never_ have to feel ashamed of. It’s fucked up that you have to parade around with some girl you don’t even like on your arm because they want to protect their cut of the profit.”

Harry had to pause to take a breath. He was crying now too, the tears falling thick and fast. He didn't bother to wipe them away, just let them roll down his cheeks.

Louis finally spoke, and his voice was so quiet and shaky that it almost shattered Harry’s heart in two all over again.

“Do you really mean it?”

“Mean what, Lou?”

“That you’re here because… because you love me?”

Harry nodded, “I do, I love you more than is probably sane or healthy. But even if you don’t feel-“

The rest of his sentence was drowned out by Louis’ mouth pressing against his. Louis clung to Harry, his arms around his neck, his mouth soft but desperate, as though he were trying to taste and touch every particle of Harry’s mouth. Harry kneeled up, tilting his head down and wrapped one arm around Louis’ slender waist, the other hand going up to tangle in his hair. He broke off for a second to look at Louis, to check that he was still okay.

“Are you sure-?” He began to ask, but Louis silenced him again with a kiss. “I’m sure, Harry, I – I want you.”

Louis was still shaking but there was fire in his eyes.

They were pressed together again, chest to chest, Louis’ lips moving in perfect synchrony with his own, as if this was choreography they had danced a thousand times before. The kiss gradually gathered heat, Louis’ tongue begging for entry, and Harry admitting it immediately. He detached his mouth from Louis’ and began to press little kisses down the column of his throat until he reached a soft patch of skin just below his jawbone where he began to suck a bruise.

Suddenly, a loud voice broke through their reverie, invading the little world that consisted of just the two of them; their lips, their tears, their breaths their hands…

“Louis? Where are you mate?”

Louis jumped back a little. “I’ve got to go,” he murmured breathlessly. He looked unreal like this, Harry thought. Lips plump and bitten red from kissing, hair dishevelled from Harry’s fingers in it, pupils blown wide with lust.

Louis scrambled quickly to his feet, pulling Harry up with him. He pressed another quick kiss to Harry’s lips, gentler this time, and then turned, making his way back to the concert hall without another word.


	9. You make me strong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * Note: I have made some changes and edited the previous chapter. As I don't have a beta and tend to write in between deadlines and other work, there are quite often typos etc so I'll probs be going back and doing that for some of the other chapters.
> 
> The lyrics for this chapter are from ‘Us’ by James Bay, one of my all-time favourite songs. Give it a listen because not only is the song itself so incredible, but the lyrics feel as if they were written just for this fic. Songs are always up to interpretation, but this one just spoke to me on a personal level about being strong enough to face all the pain, suffering and trials that are an inevitable in life, because you have that one special thing (or person) you believe in that keeps you going. This chapter is really about Louis realizing and coming to terms with this. 
> 
> I'm aware this is short, but that is essentially because it's part 2 of the previous chapter (the two kind of read as one.)  
> Summary: literally 3k of smut and fluff. Enjoy!

_So, tell me how to be in this world_

_Tell me how to breathe in and feel no hurt_

_Tell me now ‘cause I believe in something,_ _I believe in us_

_Tell me when the light goes out_

_That even in the dark we will find a way out_

_Tell me now ‘cause I believe in something_

_I believe in us_

_Us_

_James Bay_

Louis felt as though every cell of his body was on fire. The crowd was screaming and singing along, and he could feel the rhythm of the music coursing through his veins as he sang.

As he strutted across the stage to his next mark, Louis glimpsed a familiar tall, lanky figure watching enthralled from the side of the stage. He caught Harry’s eye for the briefest of seconds and beamed, then turned back to the audience, belting out his next line:

_Better than words, you drive me crazy_

_Someone like you will always be my baby…_

It was their last show in Madrid and Louis still felt like he was walking on air. He had held back for so long, had convinced himself that he couldn’t, that he shouldn’t… and now…

It was like before he had been struggling to breathe at high altitude and ever since he had kissed Harry, ever since they had tumbled into bed together that night after the first Barcelona show, he was breathing fresh, clear sea air; great big easy lungfuls of it.

He still wasn’t sure it was the greatest idea, still held firmly onto the fear that Harry would wake up one day and finally figure it out, just be done with all his shit, and then Louis would be even worse of then before. He was still petrified that he would hurt Harry like he had hurt so many other people. But he let himself have this for now, let himself feel the indescribable burn in his veins as he strutted across the stage, knowing that Harry’s eyes were glued to him and him alone.

When they had finally sung their last song, and taken their last bows, Louis raced backstage, the bass and the beat still thrumming in his blood. Harry stood where he always did, just off to the side and Louis strode towards him without a hint of hesitation, kissing him square on the mouth. Harry kissed him back enthusiastically, grabbing him around the waist and spinning him around in a circle, and Louis squealed in protest although he was secretly delighted.

“Put me down, you great oaf.” He grumbled, but he was beaming.

“Sorry, it’s just you were so fucking amazing tonight,” Harry growled.

Louis looked up to see Harry’s pupils wide with want, barely rimmed with the thinnest line of emerald green. “You are so hot out there.” Louis held his gaze and could feel his blood rushing southwards. He wanted Harry, now. He wanted to take him apart piece by piece with his tongue, his mouth, his fingers. Wanted to worship each little freckle and dimple from his head to his toes. Wanted Harry’s mouth on his cock and his massive hands cupping and squeezing his arse.

But unfortunately, they were currently surrounded by Liam, Niall, the band and various crew members, so Louis would have to save it for when they reached their hotel room.

He could see clearly that Harry wanted the same, so he leant in and whispered hoarsely, “Later, I promise.”

They broke apart, but Louis kept a firm hold on Harry’s hand, leading him to his dressing room.

The second they were through the door of Louis’ hotel room, Harry had his hands on Louis’ waist and his lips suckling fervently at his pulse point. He himself was half-hard, had been for the whole drive back. It hadn’t helped that Louis had had his hand resting dangerously high up his thigh, rubbing his thumb back and forth in tantalizing circles.

Harry guided Louis backwards toward the bed, not detaching his mouth from his neck for even a moment. He pushed him down gently and Louis fell easily back onto the mattress, gazing up at Harry through those ridiculously long lashes. Harry almost growled at the sight. Harry came down to hover over Louis’ body, propped up on his arms and dipped down to kiss him, slow and filthy, taking Louis’ bottom lip between his teeth and biting gently. An ungodly moan came from somewhere at the back of Louis’ throat and he arched up, chasing more, more, more. Harry was powerless to deny him.

“Off,” he mumbled, tugging at Louis’ t-shirt. Louis helped him to guide it over his head and then tried to wiggle out of his skinny jeans. They got stuck near the bottom, and Harry let out a frustrated growl which had Louis giggling. Harry glared at him for a second and then burst into laughter as well, dipping down to nibble at Louis’ lip and whispering fondly, “Cheeky little shit. Why do your jeans have to be so tight?”

“Oh, you don’t like it?” Louis asked innocently, batting his lashes, “In future I won’t wear them then.” Harry glared at Louis, offended by the mere suggestion of such a stupid thing and then they both snorted with laughter again.

Louis’ skinnies successfully removed, Harry undid the last two buttons of his own shirt (well, the only two that had been buttoned up in the first place) and shrugged it off, breathing heavily now. He looked down at Louis below him, the outline of his fully-hard cock visibly tenting his boxers. Harry bent to mouth slowly at his cock over the fabric, tracing his fingers down Louis’ sides. Every point where they were making contact felt like it was sizzling with heat. Harry peppered the lightest of kisses just above the waistband of Louis’ boxers and looked up at him through his eyelashes.

“Can I?” he asked, his voice husky.

“Godssake Harry, yes, _please,_ ” he whined. The needy plea went straight to Harry’s cock and he didn’t wait another second before pulling down Louis’ boxers over his hips. His cock sprang free immediately, impossibly hard and flushed pink. Harry immediately dipped down, pressing a kiss onto the head and swirling his tongue around the slit, taking the base of Louis’ cock into his left hand. Louis emitted another high pitch whine as Harry finally closed his mouth over his cock, taking him all the way down, his hand covering what his mouth couldn’t. Louis had wound his hands tightly in Harry’s curls and with every little whimper and every pull of his hair, Harry could feel himself getting harder and harder. He bobbed his head a few times and then pulled off, coming up to Louis’ face and pressing another deep kiss along his jawline, biting and sucking, wanting to leave a mark so unmistakeable that the whole world would know that Louis was _his._

“Harry?” Louis whispered, his voice raspy and already so fucked out.

“Yes, baby?” Harry asked, peppering more kisses along his delicate collarbones.

“Can I fuck you?”

Harry paused and then nodded frantically, “Yes, yeah, yeah I really want that,” he babbled. Louis propped himself up on his elbows and traced a gentle finger along Harry’s jawline.

“Turn over for me, baby,” he murmured softly, “I want to take care of you.”

Harry turned to lie on his belly and Louis propped a pillow underneath his hips for a better angle.

Louis reached into the bedside table for lube and a condom and coated his fingers in a generous layer before circling Harry’s pink hole just once, which fluttered at the suggestion of contact. He gently pressed in, allowing Harry to adjust around the stretch and pressed a tender kiss to the nape of Harry’s neck.

By the time he had added the third finger, Harry was squirming desperately. “Please,” he begged, “I’m ready.”

“Ok, baby.”

Louis withdrew his fingers and wiped them on the sheets before slipping on the condom and coating himself up with lube again. He hovered above Harry’s entrance but then paused.

“Haz, baby? Could you turn over?” he asked, “Want to see your face.”

Harry turned onto his back, reaching a hand out to pull Louis down for a deep, slow kiss, their tongues mingling, their hot breaths exhaling into each other’s mouths.

Louis hovered once more over Harry’s entrance and then pushed in, little by little, taking scrupulous care not to hurt Harry by going too quickly. He bottomed out and took a few seconds to breathe, allowing Harry to adjust to the feeling.

“Move!” Harry moaned, and Louis obliged, pulling all the way out and then pushing straight back in again. He continued the rhythm and Harry didn’t think he had ever felt quite as amazing or full as he felt now, Louis cock splitting him open, his beautiful, lust-blown eyes fixed on Harry’s.

“You feel so good,” Louis murmured, his fingertips digging bruises into Harry’s hipbones, “You’re so good for me, baby.” Harry whined desperately and reached down a hand towards his cock, aching for release, but Louis’ swatted him away firmly.

“Let me, baby.”

As Harry felt his orgasm starting to build, Louis sped up, pounding into Harry’s spot over and over, and Harry arched up to meet him throwing his head back and groaning.

“Fuck, Lou, so fucking good,” he gasped, aware that he was just babbling nonsensically now. Louis kept going, his eyes never leaving Harry’s, emitting little groans and whimpers that affected Harry more than he thought possible. He bent down to kiss Harry again, sloppy, their teeth clashing, and it sent Harry over the edge. His eyes whited out completely, so overwhelmed he felt by the sheer force of his orgasm. Louis withdrew and discarded the condom, taking his own cock into his hand and pumping.

“Lou,” Harry whispered, so fucked out he could barely think straight let alone speak, “Here,” he rasped, pointing to the butterfly tattoo on his chest. Louis seemed to understand and seconds later he was coming, shooting stripes up Harry’s chest, his own come mixing with Harry’s on the black ink of the butterfly. He collapsed beside Harry, exhuasted and pulled him in for a last deep kiss.

They both lay there for a moment, regaining their breath.

“That was fucking unbelievable,” Louis sighed. Harry turned to face him, smiling. He knew that his expression was probably incredibly soppy and fond, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care one iota. “Yeah, it was,” he breathed.

Louis curled into Harry, his head against Harry’s broad shoulder. Harry kissed his temple, breathing in the heady smell of sex and sweat and _Louis._

“We should get cleaned up,” Harry said regretfully, and made to sit up but Louis pulled him back. “Nooooo,” he whined. Harry grinned and extricated his arm gently. As much as he wanted to stay tucked up with Louis in their bed – forever preferably – he knew that before long they would be far too sleepy to do anything about it, and they would regret sleeping in a sticky mess come morning.

Returning from the en-suite with a damp cloth, Harry wiped himself and Louis down and then curled back into Louis’ space. Louis attached himself to Harry’s back like a koala, intertwining their legs and pressing tired, feather-light kisses to the little spot behind his ear. In less than five minutes, Harry had fallen asleep, sated and so, so in love.

Louis was starting to get dangerously used to waking up pressed to the warm, smooth, beautiful body of Harry Styles. He was getting far too used to waking up with soft curls in his face or in his mouth, with his nostrils full of the sweet, musky smell that was uniquely Harry. It had been barely two weeks since their confessions in Barcelona, but somehow, to Louis it felt like an eternity. It didn’t matter where he was or what he was doing, he constantly felt like he needed to touch Harry, to kiss him, to hold him, just to breathe the same air as him. He was so unbelievably, foolishly in love and he felt like he might just self-combust if he didn’t do something about it soon.

When Louis finally told Harry, it was nothing spectacular; there was no big fuss. It was late morning and they were lazing around in the hotel bed in Copenhagen, both of them in just their boxers, whispering in each other’s ears, exchanging tender kisses once in a while. It was nothing urgent, just a sort of peaceful bliss that felt so comfortable, so right, that Louis just had to turn to Harry and say, “I love you, you know.”

For the first time he had said those words (and meant them) to someone he was seeing, it didn’t feel like something huge and scary. It just felt so obvious, like it was weird of him not to have said it before that point.

Harry just smiled fondly, and pecked Louis’ nose. “I love you too, babe.”

And that was it – it was that simple.

That same afternoon, after sound-check and before Louis had to go get ready, Harry and Louis sat together in their suite, eating an early dinner they had ordered up from room service.

“You know,” Louis began, shyly, because he didn’t often say this kind of shit, “I know I’m….” he wanted to say _toxic_ or _impossible,_ wanted to say all the things he knew to be true about himself, but didn’t because Harry would protest every time he did, “-difficult,” he settled on, “I know things are complicated, and I’m not in the best place all the time. I’m like… I don’t know what’s wrong with me exactly,”

Harry looked as if he were about to protest, but Louis interrupted him. “You know what I mean. There’s all this awful shit in the world you know? All this hate and judgement and loss and… all these secrets we have to keep, people who think we’re crazy or doing something wrong. All this… _noise_ , I guess, but lately, being with you….”

He trailed off, not entirely sure how to say what he needed without it sounding embarrassingly cheesy and insincere. He looked down at his lap where his hands were fidgeting nervously. “When I’m with you,” he said carefully, “It’s not like those things go away exactly, but if feels like maybe I’m strong enough to face them, you know? Like, the noise doesn’t go away, but it does fade a bit.”

He bit his lip, worried that he had said too much.

When he looked up, he saw that Harry’s eyes were swimming with tears.

“I love you,” he breathed, shuffling forward to embrace Louis, pulling him into his arms. “And I’m so proud of you for telling me that.” There was no pity or judgement in his voice, no condescension. “I feel the same, you know.”

Emboldened by Harry’s reaction, Louis whispered almost inaudibly, “I feel like maybe I need to stop running, you know? Accept that you make me strong and that that’s not necessarily something to be ashamed of.”

Harry looked at him earnestly, cupping his cheeks in both hands and looking him directly in his eyes. “You should _never_ feel weak for accepting help, or love, Louis. I hope you know that.”

He retracted his hands gently but didn’t look away from Louis’ face. “Do you remember when you said you didn’t want to be saved? – That I had a hero-complex?” he asked.

Louis cringed, “I know Harry, and I’m so sorry abo-”

“Hey, no Louis, don’t – I didn’t mean it like that,” Harry interrupted, placing a reassuring hand on Louis’ knee. “I just meant that maybe we all need saving you know, at some point? But that doesn’t make us weak or incapable. Like, I sometimes feel that you saved me.”

“How do you mean?” Louis asked.

“Before I met you, as clichéd as it sounds, I was kind of a bit lost. I knew who I was, that’s always been true, but I was stillstruggling. I was ridden with guilt for not loving someone until you showed me that I couldn’t blame myself for that. I didn’t know how it felt to be in love before I met you. I found a group of friends who love and accept me. I’ve never felt so appreciated as I do with you – when you told me that you liked what I had written or my performance – it was the first time it had really meant anything. And like, I was fine, I was happy, you know, but it’s kind of like….” Harry seemed to wrack his brain for the appropriate explanation, “-kinda like not knowing you need reading glasses. Like you can get about just fine, but you don’t really see everything as it should be. Meeting you was like finding out that I needed reading glasses. So yeah, I guess you kind of saved me too.”

Louis should be laughing. This boy. This bizarre, eccentric boy who had essentially just compared him to a pair of reading glasses. But instead, he had to fight to hold back tears and surged forward to kiss Harry again, just a tender peck to his lips.

“I don’t know how true that really is Harry, but I always want to be there to save you, if you still want me to.”

Harry beamed. “I will always want you to save me. And I’ll always be there to save you too, Louis.”


	10. Fire on Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title and lyrics are taken from Sam Smith’s latest song for the film Watership Down, Fire on Fire. It is incredibly beautiful, and I have literally not stopped playing it on repeat since I first heard it a week ago. The lyrics of this song inspire this fic, so I would definitely recommend listening to it as you read or at least reading the lyrics. Thank you so much to everyone who has been leaving comments and kudos, I really appreciate it more than I can say.  
> Also, slight change of plans. Turns out this is the last chapter before the epilogue. Oops! (Hi)
> 
> Enjoy, my loves  
> P  
> x

_Then I saw you and I knew_

_Maybe it’s ‘cause I got a little bit older_

_Maybe it’s all that I’ve been through_

_I’d like to think it’s how you lean on my shoulder_

_And how I see myself with you_

_There you go, saving me from out of the cold_

_-Fire on Fire_

_Sam Smith_

“Babe?” Harry began, in that voice that Louis had come to recognize as being his _“I want to talk about something serious that you probably won’t enjoy much”_ voice. It had been their first day off in quite a while and they were lying tucked up on the sofa in their pyjamas, watching a rerun of Daredevil and exchanging the occasional lazy kiss.

“Mmm hmmm?” Louis asked.

“The other day… when you were describing how you felt on your down days…”

“Harry, please,” Louis interrupted warily, “You know that I don’t want to talk about it.”

Harry chewed his lip, his fingers fiddling nervously in his lap.

“I know, Lou, but I just, I want to help,” he said, his voice a little desperate, and when Louis remained in stony silence, he quickly continued, his voice a kind of nervous babble now, “What you said about feeling numb and hopeless… I.. well Gem, when she was a teenager, she went through his really bad period of depression and…”

“What the _hell,_ Harry?” Louis spat defensively, immediately retracting his arm from around Harry’s shoulders and scooting backwards, creating as much space between them as possible.

“I… _please_ Lou, I’m not trying to… it’s just that’s how _she_ felt as well, only I was too young to notice at the time, it was only when she started cutting that…”

Louis leapt to his feet as though he had been stung. “I told you that I don’t Harry,” he spat.

“No, _I know_ Lou, I just…”

“Listen Harry, I think I made myself quite clear. I’m _not_ cutting myself and I _don’t_ want to talk about it. You clearly to seem to think that there’s something wrong with me but I’m fine.”

“I’m not saying that there’s anything wrong with you,” Harry pleaded, “I’m not. Please, Lou, I’m just worried.”

That was the wrong choice of word, clearly. Louis’ glare was ice-cold. “For someone who claims he doesn’t have a hero-complex, you sure are looking like it right now,” he spat, “I _knew_ this would happen,” he said and suddenly his face crumpled, his mask of cold resentment falling to reveal weariness and regret. He perched on the edge of the settee as far away as physically possible from where Harry sat, his shoulders hunching inwards. He stared at his hands, willing away the tears that he felt straining just beneath the surface.

“I knew it, you know. I thought… but you’re just like the rest of them, you think there’s something wrong with me, that I’m this fucked up loser that needs your pity…”

“Lou, _no,_ please stop!” Harry begged, and his eyes were shimmering with tears now.

“Get out,” Louis said, calmly and without looking up to meet Harry’s eyes, “Please, just get out.”

Harry slept in his own hotel room that night, something he hadn’t done for almost two weeks, since Barcelona. Louis tossed and turned, but sleep didn’t come and when he woke in the morning he felt as though he had run a marathon the day before.

The bed was too cold and far too big with only one person in it, so Louis didn’t laze around in bed for a bit like he usually would. He got up and traipsed to the bathroom, trying not to look at his face in the mirror. He knew that if he did, he would see evidence of the night before, knew that he would see red-rimmed puffy eyes framed by dark circles, and he didn’t want to think about it what that meant.

Once dressed, he sat back down on the unmade bed, checking through his phone to see if there was anything he needed to know or do, but in truth, his thoughts were a million miles away.

He _hated_ the idea that there might actually be something wrong with him - hated that Harry had suggested it even more. He felt utterly hollow. He had seen it coming though, he thought bitterly, he had known that eventually Harry would see what everyone else saw - how fucked up Louis actually was.

Reticently, he opened up safari on his phone and typed ‘Depression Symptoms’ into the search bar. Thousands of matches appeared in a second and as he sat there, scrolling though the various pages and realizing that basically every symptom lined up with his own, his heart fell to the pit of his stomach.

Fatigue.

Irritability.

Appetite Loss.

Loss of interest in things once pleasurable.

Feelings of numbness or emptiness.

_Feelings of guilt, worthlessness and helplessness._

That last one hit him particularly hard. Every fibre of his body was urging him to close the browser, but he forced himself to read on.

‘Depression is an extremely complex disease that may occur for a variety of reasons and affects the chemistry of the brain. It is a serious medical diagnosis which can be heredity and is often exacerbated by loss, abuse, identity crises, death and substance abuse.”

Louis felt sick, physically sick and suddenly he couldn’t sit there for another second. Grabbing his phone and room key, he left the room, the door slamming behind him.

\------

“Lou?” Harry asked, opening the door for him. Louis walked straight past him and into the room, still not saying a word.

Harry sighed inwardly. He couldn’t deal with a rehashing of last night’s fight. He loved Louis - so much it actually hurt sometimes, so much he didn’t know how to sleep without him or think about anything that didn’t involve him. But he couldn’t _make_ Louis see reason, couldn’t force him into anything; he had made that pretty clear last night. Harry closed the door quietly and turned to face Louis and immediately stumbled back into the door. Louis was right there in front of him, crowding into his space and then he was surging forward, kissing Harry deeply and desperately, his arms winding tightly in his hair. Harry pulled him in, gripping him around the waist and tasting Louis’ lips like they were the oxygen that he had been deprived of for hours.

“Wait,” he broke off, looking down at Louis. “What’s going on, Lou?”

Louis took a reluctant step back, clearly not wanting to create any space between them. He breathed out heavily, and looked up at Harry, “I’m sorry, Haz. I’ve been a complete twat.”

And well, Harry had not been expecting that.

He made to say something, but Louis held a hand up to stop him.

“No, listen Haz, I… I need to say some shit, ok?” He took another deep breath, steadying himself. “You might be right, about the whole…uh… depression thing. I’m sorry for how I reacted, you… you didn’t deserve that, okay?” He swallowed, the knot in his throat visible.

“So, I looked it up and obviously I can’t know for sure, ‘cause I’m not a professional and all but it’s just… I felt like I was reading a description of myself.”

“No.”

Louis startled. “What do you mean, no?”

“I mean it’s not a description of _you,_ Louis. _You_ are not those symptoms. But yeah, it’s a description of how you’ve been feeling.”

Harry reached out to cup Louis’ cheek, running a soothing thumb over his jawbone. “You… are my beautiful, funny, ridiculous, hard-working, talented boyfriend and-”

Harry froze. He realized a moment too late what he had just said.

“I…”

“Boyfriend?” Louis asked.

“Only if- I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

“ _Please,”_ Louis interrupted, kissing Harry tenderly again, “I would kinda love that, to be quite honest.”

“Boyfriends,” Harry nodded, savouring the way the word felt on his tongue, “Boyfriends.”

“Yes, you dopey sap,” Louis grinned, rolling his eyes.

“Seriously though,” he continued, his face sincere once more, “I mean it. I was shitty to you and you didn’t deserve that. I guess it’s just… the idea of having something like that, it’s like a confirmation that there _is_ actually something wrong with me so when you said it…” he trailed off, shrugging his shoulders.

Harry nodded and paused. “Should we sit, maybe?” he asked. He took Louis’ hand tenderly between his own and let him to the bed, sitting propped up against the headboard and tugging Louis right up next to him. Louis snuggled into his side and they just stayed there for a moment, Harry allowing himself to breathe in Louis’ familiar scent. They had been apart for just one night, but it had felt like years since he had felt Louis’ touch and he craved it, like one would water in a desert.

He dropped a little kiss to the top of Louis head.

“I get that, I do, I understand why you feel that way. But it’s not a dirty word, you know? Loads of people have it, and it’s a real, awful disease, not some excuse that people make up. You’ve been through so much and that’s probably been what started it all or at least made it worse. But it certainly doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you,” he said softly, but firmly.

Louis nodded, his throat tight. “Thank you, Harry,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and small.

Harry just wrapped his arms around Louis and tugged him in close, let Louis’ head rest against his heart, and stroked his back soothingly.

They stayed like that for so long that Harry’s back began to cramp from the awkward angle.

Louis was late to sound check, because Harry had made love to him, slowly and sensually, worshipping each little freckle and hair, kissing him tenderly and whispering confirmations of love and devotion into his ear as they rode out their bliss together, hands clasped and heads thrown back in ecstasy.

\------

Harry had been back in the UK for a mere three days and Louis missed him more than was entirely reasonable. He was aware that this new-found attachment probably wasn’t the healthiest, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care: he had put it off for so long, and now that he had finally let himself have this, had finally given in, he didn’t want to have to let it all go again so quickly. He missed glimpsing Harry’s tall figure watching from the side of the stage, missed waking up curled around his smooth, warm body with curls tickling his nose and cheeks, and he missed coming back to their hotel room after a show, adrenaline still pumping through his veins, and fucking Harry into the mattress. He missed those green eyes; missed seeing them dilated with lust, missed them when they were filled with fondness and an admiration that he still felt he didn’t quite deserve.

Harry had stayed for another two and a half weeks since Barcelona, travelling with the guys through Europe. Management had been highly unimpressed at these developments, particularly when they had found out about the nature of their relationship, but it seemed that someone had been in their corner, because Harry was permitted to tour with them, so long as he didn’t share information on his whereabouts on social media and, wasn’t seen out and about with them and stayed in his own hotel room. In every city, Harry was assigned his own room – never the swanky suites reserved for the boys – but he had mostly left them untouched and uninhabited, preferring to curl up in Louis’ arms for the night.

Another unfortunate consequence of management finding out had been the increased number and frequency of stunts. Eleanor had been flown in and they had spent a good two days just walking around getting ‘seen’ – shopping, starbucks, dinner, you name it. But, ultimately Louis hadn’t cared all that much because when it was all over, he got to go back to Harry and sleep beside him. He got to kiss him and touch him and tell him how much he loved him, and if that meant he had to pretend he was having a good time with someone he was not particularly fond of for a few days then, it didn’t matter quite so much. The underlying message did not elude him however: the people in charge of their public image still firmly believed that Louis’ true identity was something shameful that warranted hiding.

Zayn had flown in a few days later to Vienna as a surprise for Liam and – after a respectable two day period in which Zayn and Liam stayed firmly shut up together in their room doing _god_ knows what – the five of them had had a reunion of sorts, going out (always, incognito and heavily flanked by bodyguards obviously), having movie marathons and FIFA tournaments in Niall’s suite and going through a remarkable amount of pizza, weed and beer. Louis couldn’t remember the last time he had felt that happy as he had with the four other lads, hanging out, laughing and joking, perched in Harry’s lap or tucked into his side. He’d be bickering with Niall over FIFA one minute and then teasing Liam and Zayn another, but always, _always,_ with Harry’s comforting warmth by his side.

He had had only two of his ‘ _down days’_ \- as he had come to call them - in the whole three weeks and was finally starting to feel a bit more like himself again, a bit more like the loud, flamboyant Louis that he could barely remember, but which he knew he had once been. With Harry’s encouragement, he had apologized to Liam and Niall had merely looked confused and pulled him into a crushing bear hug, insisting that he had absolutely nothing to be apologize for whatsoever.

But now both Harry and Zayn had left again, back to their jobs and their home and _real life_ , and Louis was feeling distinctly deflated. He had started getting closer to Liam and Niall again though – again – something which had been prompted by Harry.

The two of them had been lying in bed together, the morning after a massive show in Copenhagen that had left them all completely exhausted. The stage had been massive, and the crowd had been relentless, cheering and screaming their lyrics back at them. Undoubtedly, their boundless enthusiasm had been amazing and flattering, but the three encores had left all the boys utterly drained and with sore throats. It hadn’t helped Louis’ throat much that he had sucked Harry off after the show either. But hey, priorities.

“Babe,” Harry had whispered, tucking a tuft of unruly hair behind Louis’ ear.

“Mmm hmmm?”

“You know, when I have to go…”

Louis hadn’t wanted to talk about that, or think about it, despite it being inevitable. He knew that Harry had been away from the UK for far too long already and Louis couldn’t expect him to continue shirking his responsibilities just to keep him company.

“Yeah?” he asked, not sure he wanted to hear the rest of the sentence.

“I think…” he trailed off, clearly trying to find a way to say it without raising Louis’ hackles, “I think maybe that you should let Niall and Liam in a bit. You don’t need to talk to them about what’s going on or go into any detail or whatever,” he added quickly, “But maybe just tell them when you’re feeling down so they can be with you. I won’t be here ,and I don’t want you to…”

Louis sighed. “Harry, you _know_ how I feel about that. I don’t want them to feel like they’re babysitting… and it’s not like I have any reason to be…. uh…” He didn’t use the word, he couldn’t quite say it himself yet. “It’s just stupid,” he concluded, the bitterness in his voice stronger than he had intended.

“It’s _not_ stupid,” Harry argued fiercely, his voice still raspy from the early morning, “Don’t say that Lou, please. Depression is not stupid, and it doesn’t make you less-than. I _know_ you don’t want their sympathy but maybe if you just let them in a bit more, let them be there for you. I know you think it does but shutting them out doesn’t make it easier for them _or_ for you.”

Louis had still been so unsure at that point, positively _hated_ the idea of admitting that he was anything less than _fine_ , but he had gradually started trying to be a little more open with the two of them and found that it hadn’t panned out like he had expected. Liam and Niall hadn’t looked at him with that unbearable look of pity in their eyes that Louis had expected, hadn’t fussed and fretted; they had simply nodded and stayed by his side, watching movies with him and keeping him company.

And so, yeah, Louis was _fine,_ he was. But fuck, he missed Harry more than he cared to admit and he wanted, no, _needed_ the next three weeks to pass quickly so that he could return to the UK and – more importantly – Harry’s arms for the month and a half before the second leg of the tour.

\------ 

Libby was glaring at Harry from over the bread basket. She looked positively terrifying like this and Harry pitied any man that got on the wrong side of her. She had barely spoken since they had sat down; had just stared at her with cold eyes.

“Libb-“

“No, Harry, Jesus,” she burst out, the dam wall finally breaking.

“Don’t ‘Libb’ me! All you had to do was let me know! You were gone almost a month, Harry. I had to cancel four gigs and an interview that I worked bloody hard to get for you! As your manager I’m annoyed and offended and as your friend I’m just as pissed. Don’t you think I deserve a little better than that, huh?”

Harry hung his head in shame. She wasn’t wrong.

“I’m really sorry, Libb, you’re right. I’ve been a twat and so caught up in all of the stuff going on. I should have called, I know.”

Libby’s chest deflated a little, and her face softened.

“I know, Harry, I get it. I’m sorry for ranting, but it just put me in a bad position, you know? I know things haven’t exactly been easy for you.”

She reached out a hand for his and squeezed in a gesture that was half forgiveness and half sympathy.

Harry heaved a deep sigh. “No, no it definitely hasn’t. But, God, it was worth it.”

The tension broken and the two of them back on amicable terms again, Harry explained the whole story, leaving almost nothing out (except the more *ahem* intimate details) and Libby listened attentively, her reactions ranging from sympathetic to outraged to endeared.

“So, you’re in love with him then?” she asked finally.

“Yeah,” Harry confirmed, and he couldn’t help the massive grin that stretched across his features. “Like ridiculously, embarrassingly full-on rom-com in love with him.”

“I’m happy for you, H” she murmured sincerely, smiling kindly, “You deserve it, you know.”

Their lunch meeting promptly retuned to business and Libby ran down everything that was expected of him for the next month or so. From the looks of it, he would be rather busy, which was not at all bad considering that he was going to need to find a way to keep his mind off Louis, a herculean task, if he was honest with himself.

“And,” she continued, a massive self-satisfied smirk spreading across her face, “You will not believe what I’ve got for you.”

Her eyes were bright and she looked like an excited puppy. This was how Harry liked her best, how he always wanted her to look.

“What?” he indulged her.

“Next week Sunday, I’ve got you a spot on Graham Norton,” she beamed.

“You have _not_!” Harry gasped, grinning now too, “Libb that’s fantastic!”

He got up and went around the little table to squeeze her tighlty and peck her gratefully on the cheek.

“Have I ever told you that you’re the best manager a boy could have?” he asked her sweetly, batting his eyelashes.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, rolling her eyes, but she was beaming.

\------

****

Sunday came far quicker than Harry had anticipated. Before he knew it, he was standing nervously backstage in a gorgeous dark green velvet Gucci-suit, his long hair swept artfully back. He was clasping his hands together tightly to prevent himself from running his fingers nervously through his hair and messing up the stylist’s careful work. He had done plenty of interviews before, but this was his first proper talk show performance and he was petrified he was going to put his foot in his mouth.

“You’re on,” the stage hand murmured to him and Harry nodded, biting his lip and trying to calm his heart that was rabbiting wildly in his chest.

“And finally, please welcome, Harry Styles!” boomed Graham’s voice over the loudspeaker. Harry strode forward, all of his mental effort going into not tripping on stage.

He smiled and walked towards the sofa, shaking hands with Graham and Liam Hemsworth ( _Liam Hemsworth_ \- what the actual fuck?) and kissing Miranda Hart on the cheek.

When the applause died down and they were all seated with their chosen drinks in front of them, Graham shot him a quick reassuring smile.

As the show went on, Harry started to relax more and more. Liam was lovely and Miranda hilarious, Graham the perfect combination of both and he could feel himself coming out of his shell a little. He had been tossed a few questions here and there, but he knew his proper part would be near the end just before he had to leave to the B-stage to sing.

Finally, Graham turned to him and asked: “So, Harry. Your rise has kind of been monumental. How are you dealing with it all?”

“Well…” Harry paused, “I guess I had a few singles and an EP and then the album got released and… well the reception was way more intense than I had expected.”

Graham nodded encouragingly, despite Harry not actually having answered his question. “What do you think it was that made people connect to your music?” he asked.

“I guess they’re about things that a lot of people suffer through and have to deal with, and that maybe aren’t discussed as much as they should be,” Harry shrugged. "They were really just honest, you know, that's what I really wanted going into it."

“No sappy love songs then,” Graham nodded, grinning.

“Yes, but I’m afraid the next one will probably be full of them,” Harry admitted.

“Oh, the horror!” Graham teased, in mock alarm, and then smiled widely, “Is there a - uh - _mystery man_ that’s behind this sudden change of direction then?”

Harry blushed, fiddling with the stem of his wine glass.

“Errrm…..”

“Aaaand that’s a yes, ladies and gentlemen,” Miranda said, and the audience laughed appropriately.

“Well, Harry,” Graham continued with a knowing smile, “I won’t ask you who your knight in shining armour is, but is there anything else that you’d like to say about it?”

Harry paused, thinking carefully.

“Just that, he’s kind of the best person I’ve ever met, and my mum would actually kill me if she heard me saying that. He’s so much better than he thinks he is and he’s turning me into a complete sap.”

“And there you have it. Now Harry, what’s this story we’ve been hearing about you getting chlamydia from a koala….”

The rest of the segment went really well, the audience responding to Harry’s ridiculous koala story. He breathed a deep sigh of relief at the end of his performance of _Only Angel,_ and headed back to his dressing room to pack up his things, tired and ready for a good night's sleep.

As he was leaving, he almost bumped into Graham.

“Oh, oops, sorry!” he apologized, his cheeks turning pink.

“Not to worry, son. By the way, I just wanted to say congratulations for tonight, you did really well. I take it that it was your first ever talk show?”

Harry nodded.

“You did well,” he repeated, patting Harry on the shoulder.

“Thank you for not asking who it was,” Harry blurted out suddenly. He wasn’t sure where that had come from.

“Don’t worry about it. I know how these things are, you know. And I wanted to say, what you’ve done, coming onto the music scene already out, the messages of your songs all that… it’s really great, I mean it. It’s so important that people see those messages you know, and I kind of wish there was someone like you performing when I was younger.”

Harry was completely lost for words.

“He’s not out is he?” Graham asked.

Harry blinked, confused.

“Your boy,” Graham clarified.

“Yeah, no he isn't”

Graham nodded sagely. “Have patience with him. From what I saw and heard out there, he’s worth it.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, “Yeah, he really is.”


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'm really sorry that it took me so long to upload this, again I've been swamped with exams and deadlines.   
> This fic is incredibly special to me and it had honestly been really amazing and cathartic to write it. I hope that maybe some of you can relate to it or at least get something out of it. I hope I have been appropriately sensitive and that I haven't fallen short of your expectations.  
> This epilogue is relatively open-ended because I prefer you to fill in some of the blanks in your own way.  
> I hope you've enjoyed this; if you have feel free to leave comments or to share!  
> I won't be writing for quite a while but I'm leaving you with this.  
> All my love  
> P

****

_Right from the start_  
I knew that I'd found a home for my heart  
Beats fast, colours and promises  
How to be brave?  
How can I love when I'm afraid to fall?  
But watching you stand alone,  
All of my doubt suddenly goes away somehow

_A thousand years_

_Christina Perri_

**_Three years later_ **

“And how are you feeling about tomorrow, Louis?” Marie asked, peering at him through the half-moon glasses perched precariously halfway down her nose. She tucked a silver curl behind her ear and waited patiently for his answer. Louis fiddled with the fraying fabric of the chair, not quite looking at her.

“Nervous,” he admitted eventually.

“You know that that is a perfectly normal and valid way to feel, right?” she asked him kindly and Louis finally looked up, meeting her warm amber eyes and felt himself comforted by the familiar sincerity he saw there. Those eyes had been part of what had convinced him to choose her, all that time ago when he had first agreed to go to a therapist. Marie was a softly-spoken middle-aged woman with silvery hair and a tiny frame who wore one colourful and eccentric outfit after the next. She wore red-rimmed glasses that magnified her eyes almost comically and always had on an assortment of colourful shawls and glittering necklaces. Despite the ever-present kindness in her eyes and her eccentric appearance, she was also highly skilled and no-nonsense and, as such, had never let Louis get away with “I’m fine’s” and other similar non-answers. She had always made sure that Louis knew that his feelings, however stupid they might appear to himself, were valid and were worth discussing. Louis often thought that Harry couldn’t possibly have found him a psychologist better suited to him.

“We have discussed this at length,” she continued, “But I’d like to hear it again in your own words, and also in terms of the present moment, to see whether your feelings have changed at all. What exactly is it that is making you nervous?” She smiled knowingly and added, “- besides, of course, from the fact that you’re publicly coming out after over 8 years in the closet.”

“I guess,” Louis hesitated, “I guess the thing that scares me the most really is that I’ve essentially been lying to these people for years now, people that have supported me and bought my music and come to my shows and all that… and I’m worried that they’ll feel, I dunno, like betrayed or summat?”

Marie nodded, pensively. “I can see why you would feel that way, Louis. But as we’ve discussed, the “lying” or really, more accurately, omission, was not your choice. Rather, you were manipulated by an unforgiving industry and by people who prioritize their profits above your mental health. I know you find that hard to accept…” she smiled apologetically. Throughout their two years of therapy, this had been one of the many things that had taken Louis a long time to come to terms with. “-but I think what’s important to remember here is that you don’t owe these people anything.” Louis made to protest, but she interrupted, “Yes, Louis, I know what you want to say, but I don’t mean it in that respect. I know how much you appreciate your fans, I do. What I mean is that things as personal as sexuality and identity should be private and it should always be the _individual’s_ choice on whether or not to share that part of themselves. In your case, as is the case for many public figures, that choice has unfairly been taken away from you. Tomorrow you are doing a very brave thing by sharing that part of yourself, but it is essential to remember that you don’t necessarily _owe_ people this. You have made this difficult choice, but you have made it for yourself and because you want to live authentically. If people are upset, you need to understand that it is not your fault.”

Louis nodded, unsure of what to say. They had talked about this at great length before of course; had spent ages discussing it when Louis and Harry had first started planning his coming out, but hearing it summarized like this the evening before the big day helped remind Louis of all those things he tended to forget in his darker moments of self-doubt.

“So, what I’d say Louis, is have a good night’s sleep and go into tomorrow with an open mind and an open heart and with the knowledge that you are doing the right thing for _you._ You have so many people who love and support you, and ultimately it is what they think that is most important.”

Louis nodded again. He was already feeling jittery about the interview the next day, even though it wouldn’t be released for public viewing for another week afterwards. They had decided to film it with someone they knew and trusted and it had naturally been Graham that they had chosen. After Harry’s first appearance on his show, the two (and by extension of course-three) of them had become good friends, Graham often acting as a mentor and sounding-board of sorts. Nowadays he would sometimes join Liam, Zayn, Niall and Libby at Harry’s and Louis’ for Sunday lunch. He was incredibly partial to Harry’s Yorkshire pudding and had a soft-spot for their cat, Lady Di.

As was to be expected, Harry had meticulously planned everything down to the very last detail to make sure that the interview was as comfortable and easy as possible for Louis, but Louis couldn’t seem to shake the nerves that lain coiled in his gut for over a week now. Speaking to Marie had certainly helped though, as it had helped with many, many things in the past, and Louis felt a little lighter as he left her office on that cool Spring evening and made his way home to his and Harry’s shared London house.

“Babe!”

Harry appeared at the door, freshly showered and in just his tight black boxers, his long curls dripping little droplets of water down his chest. He beamed, his expression fond, and tugged Louis inside, sinking straight into a tight hug, Louis resting his head in the familiar nook of Harry’s neck. Louis wanted to come home to this every day for the rest of his life. Luckily, he could. For a while, this realization had scared the absolute shit out of him, but he was slowly coming to terms with it: he was head-over-heels in love with this boy, this _man_ , who had seen all his ugliest flaws and scars, had witnessed his lowest of lows and had _still_ somehow chosen to remain by his side. Even if Louis couldn’t always accept himself, he knew that Harry always would.

“Hi, baby,” he murmured, breathing in the fresh citrusy smell of Harry’s shampoo and pressing a single kiss to the side of his neck. Harry drew back and offered his hand to Louis, leading him inside.

Louis kicked off his shoes and dumped his bag in the entrance hall, following Harry into the kitchen. Louis was a little disappointed when he saw him buttoning up a pale blue shirt. To be quite honest, he would have preferred for Harry not to put anything on at all.

Harry grinned, clearly catching on to Louis’ train of thought. He drew closer again, resting his massive hands on Louis’ waist, almost completely encompassing him in his steady grip. He leant down and pressed a tender kiss to Louis’ forehead, then his nose and then finally, his lips. “Later, I promise,” he whispered, and then drew away again.

Lady Di wound herself around Louis’ legs purring, her eyes supplicatory and Louis bent down to scratch her under the chin. When they had first adopted her from the shelter and Harry had wanted to call her Diana, Louis had scoffed and asked incredulously, “What, like Lady Di?”

Harry’s eyes had lit up immediately and Louis had realized his mistake far too late. He had tried in vain to convince Harry that it was a terrible name for a cat but Harrry had pouted and – well – Louis never seemed able to stick to his guns whenever that happened. And so, they now owned a fluffy ginger cat with a torn ear and a proclivity for tearing up furniture called Lady Di.

Louis noticed then that the kitchen smelt absolutely heavenly. “Are you baking summat?” he asked, shuffling on his slippers and heading to the fridge to pour himself a glass of orange juice.

“ _Maybeeeee_ ,” Harry grinned. Louis darted around him, crouching down to peer into the oven. There were two trays in there, one of large golden cookies and one of what appeared to be little quiches.

He stood back up to find Harry leaning back against the kitchen counter, smirking.

“ _Please_ tell me they’re macadamia and white chocolate,” he asked, taking a step into Harry’s space.

“Don’t let it ever be said that I don’t take care of you,” Harry grinned.

“You do,” Louis murmured, his voice more serious now. “You take such good care of me, Haz,” he whispered, his voice embarrassingly hoarse with emotion. Harry leant forward to cup Louis’ cheeks in his hands and pressed another slow, tender kiss against his lips. “It’s my honour, love,” he whispered. When he drew back, Louis leant in again to steal another kiss, but Harry pressed a finger to his lips. “We’ll get to that love, but I kind of have plans.”

Louis raised an eyebrow quizzically, but Harry just smiled back at him enigmatically, those lovely dimples on full display.

\------

Harry’s ‘plans’ consisted of a picnic under the stars under blankets accompanied by fancy French wine, home-baked cookies and savoury quiches. The temperate April air was just warm enough for it and it was a beautiful night, the stars glittering like so many precious stones against the dark velvet of the sky.

“You really are such a sap,” Louis grinned, leaning closer into Harry’s side. In all honesty, he was really touched. Harry knew how nervous he had been, and this sweet gesture had been just what Louis had needed. “Pah, you love it,” Harry smirked, running a hand lazily through Louis’ hair and then dropping a kiss to the top of his head. Well, Louis couldn’t really argue with that now, could he?

Apparently reading Louis’ mind in that uncanny way that he had, Harry asked, “Are you alright for tomorrow?”

“I think so, yeah,” Louis answered honestly. It was true. No matter how daunting it was, he knew he was ready for it. His contract and non-disclosure agreements with the band’s label and management had expired over a month ago, and he was just ready to finally be able to go out in public with his fiancé and do something as mundane as holding his hand or kissing him on the cheek. While there were of course endless stipulations and conditions on how exactly he was allowed to come out (i.e. he wasn’t allowed to say anything that could potentially paint his previous label and management in a bad light), he was just relieved that he would finally be able to stop lying to himself and others, to stop putting on an act every single day of his life. Of course, he would have liked to be able to tell the whole truth, to be able to warn artists about the destructive power held by certain fatcats in the music industry, Louis knew that life wasn’t a fairytale, and that this was the next-best thing: finally being able to live authentically as himself. He hoped it wouldn’t cause too much of a stir; the band itself had ‘broken up’ almost three years ago, and Louis now co-owned his own label together with Liam, so it wasn’t like he himself was as much in the public eye as he used to be. But, he supposed, given that Harry was still releasing music and touring and performing – still very much a ‘person of interest’ in the public eye – he didn’t think they would be able to get away with it under the radar either.

“Hey,” came Harry’s soft murmur. He turned so he was directly facing him and tilted up Louis’ chin with his thumb. “What are you thinking about, love?”

“Dunno, guess I’m just worried what people will think.”

Harry nodded. “Well," he began carefully, "I think that they’re going to think you’re extremely brave. I _also_ think that your fans absolutely adore you and that this isn’t going to change their minds about that in the slightest. You could probably sprout another head and they still wouldn't care. I also happen to personally think that you’re pretty fucking great, and I know on good authority that our families and friends think so too.”

Louis said nothing. Sometimes Harry’s words were so beautiful that Louis just couldn’t find anything adequate to say in return. So, he just leaned in and kissed him, tenderly, lovingly, trying to put all his gratitude and love into that gesture. He wound his hands in Harry’s hair and Harry let out a little sigh against his lips, drawing Louis’ body closer to his own. Louis felt warm and loved. So, so loved.

\-----

When morning came, Louis was feeling slightly sick. Harry was still fast asleep, exhaling little puffs of breath against the pillow. Louis was tucked into Harry’s back and he ran a hand gently down the boy’s breath-taking spine, his touch feather-light, just mapping the bones with his fingertips.

He sighed and sat up, grabbing his phone from the nightstand and scrolling through his messages.

There was a **_Good Luck Lou xxx_** text from Liam’s phone, accompanied by a picture of he and Zayn blowing him kisses and a similar message from Niall (without a picture, thank god.) Lottie had also sent him a meme of a cat in ridiculous 90’s legwarmers and headband which said _‘you can do it’_ in garish purple letters across the top. It was only 8am which meant Louis had another two hours before he had to be at Graham’s. They had decided to film the interview at Graham’s house - ostensibly because it gave off a ‘casual, organic’ vibe - but Louis knew it was mostly to put him at ease. Yet another little thing that Harry had thought of. Louis rubbed his eyes and got up out of bed, padding along to the kitchen to make some tea. Lady Di greeted him as usual, purring loudly and winding herself between his legs.

“All right, all right, Give me a mo,” he grumbled as he refilled her food bowl.

When Louis came back with the tea, Harry was sitting up in bed, scrolling though his phone. He looked up when Louis came in, his face immediately softening into a fond smile. “Morning, love,” he greeted gently. He didn’t say anything about the day to come and for that, Louis was eternally grateful. Harry patted the bed next to him and Louis crawled back in, handing Harry his tea and tucking himself up against Harry’s side. Immediately, the warmth from Harry’s body seeped into his own. He was like a human space heater, this boy.

They passed the time up until they had to go just lazing around in bed, not doing much of anything. Harry seemed to be able to tell that Louis was too nervous to talk or do anything, so they just snuggled under the duvet in front of a rerun of _Would I lie to you?_ , Harry occasionally pressing a kiss to Louis forehead or intertwining their hands and squeezing gently.

It felt like barely a minute had passed before they were on their way to Graham’s house, Harry driving, Louis with his feet up on the dashboard, both of them humming along to the radio. When they were about five minutes away – Louis recognized the route now, having been there enough times – Harry began gently, “You’re going to be absolutely fine, love.” Louis nodded, fiddling with his hands in his lap.

“And it’s not even going to air for a week. Just think of it as chatting to Graham, okay?” Louis nodded again. God, he was completely inarticulate today. But Harry didn’t seem to care at all, just reached his hand across the console to squeeze Louis’ hand briefly. Louis didn't really have to speak for Harry to understand.

When Louis had been prepped and dressed and made up and was sitting in an armchair across from Graham, the realization finally hit that _it was happening now_. He glanced across the room, searching out a familiar pair of emerald eyes and immediately felt calmer when he found them. Harry smiled at him, nodding his head in encouragement.

“You ready then, Louis?” Graham asked.

Louis nodded and gave a tight smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Graham reached out to squeeze his shoulder. “ _Hey,_ don’t stress, it’s going to be absolutely fine, okay? I promise.”

“Alright, are we all ready?” asked Shannon, their director. When both Louis and Graham answered in the affirmative she counted them in.

“Good evening everyone, I’m Graham Norton and today on this episode of ‘Getting to know you with Graham’, we will be chatting to someone that most of you already know and love, the talented and feisty _Louis Tomlinson_!” The camera panned across to Louis who gave a small smile and a little wave.

“So, Louis,” Graham began in his solicitous interviewer's voice, “You are of course an incredibly successful and well-known global popstar and there is lots of fascinating stuff to discover about you, but today we’re going to be focusing on something in particular.”

Louis swallowed thickly. That was his cue.

“Yes, Graham and I’d like to thank you again for having me on your show to talk about this. I think that people have these very specific ideas of who their idols-“ he blushed slightly, he bloody _hated_ that word and hated even more it being applied to him, but he pressed on, in accordance with the statement that he had prepared beforehand, “-are, like what their lives are about, and all that, but ultimately I just want to say that before anything else, we’re human beings.”

Graham nodded encouragingly and waited for Louis to continue. They had rehearsed this to a T.

“And obviously, we make mistakes and do stupid things and because we’re in the public eye, it gets blown up. I’ve always found the idea of fame something really difficult to process.”

“I can imagine,” Graham replied sympathetically, “You’re just like any other young lad in his twenties, but the difference is that you have to grow up and make those -perfectly normal – mistakes in the public eye. How have you dealt with that?”

“Not very well, to be honest Graham,” Louis replied with a self-deprecating smile, “For the longest time, I refused to accept or admit it, but I have developed clinical depression over the years. It’s a problem that is so prevalent nowadays, especially in young people and I think both because of the stigma it carries and because of the pressure I was under to present this flawless front to the public, I really suffered for too long in silence.”

Graham nodded sympathetically again. Louis could see Harry nodding at him encouragingly from the corner. His eyes were shimmering.

“I’m really sorry to hear that. Depression is such a complex and debilitating problem that is so much more common than we tend to think. While, as I’m sure my audience knows, it doesn’t necessarily have to be triggered by anything in particular, do you feel that there was anything specific that maybe exacerbated it?”

Here it was, Louis’ cue, the big moment.

“I think,” Louis began, his voice growing stronger, “Part of it was my mum dying. She was everything to me and gave up so much for me to live my dream. And then, the other part was my struggle with my sexuality.”

There it was, he had said it. He exhaled deeply and could see Harry beaming at him from the corner, his eyes swimming with tears.

As rehearsed, Graham didn’t say anything but just waited for Louis to continue.

He took a deep breath. “I took a long time to admit to myself that I’m… gay. It’s hard for any LGBT person to come to terms with their identity but being in the public eye made it even more stressful. I was so confused, scared and young at the time and I was petrified of how it would affect my career. For so long, I haven’t been ready to share that part of myself, but I feel like now is the right time. I hope that if anyone watching is going through something similar, then maybe I can help a little, even if it’s just in the smallest way.”

“Thank you for sharing that with us Louis. Your fans are so dedicated to you, and I am sure they will understand how incredibly personal and difficult this is for you. Is there any particular reason why you’ve decided to share this now?”

They had gotten to the unprepared part of the interview, the part that they hadn’t discussed beforehand.

Louis looked straight at Harry and sat up a little taller, his voice strong now but thick with emotion.

“Yes, in fact there _is,_ Graham. I fell in love with one of the best people I have ever met. He has been the one responsible for encouraging me to seek help for my depression and I kind of want everyone to know just how special he is.”

Louis continued to look directly at Harry, hoping that he knew how sincerely he meant each and every word. He could feel tears begin to well in his eyes too now, but at that moment he genuinely couldn’t have given less of a shit. What was it that Harry liked to say? “ _Don’t be ashamed to cry, Louis. Not being afraid to share your real emotions is one of the manliest things you can do.”_

From the moment that Harry had walked into Louis’ life, everything that been turned completely upside down. Yes, he still had the occasional day where he felt listless and empty, where he just wanted to stay in bed all day and refuse to see anyone from the outside world. But they were now few and far between, and when they came, Harry would lay by his side patiently, whispering affirmations and endearments into his ear and keeping him company until he felt ready to get back up and fighting again. Because of Harry, he was on medication that made him feel human again and he regularly saw a therapist. But most importantly, because of Harry he never, ever felt ashamed of all of those things.

Finally, Louis tore his gaze away from Harry and directed his attention to the camera.

“I recently got engaged to Harry Styles and it kind of changed my life. Even when I can’t love myself, I know he always does and always will. He taught me that it’s okay to not always be strong, and to reach out when I don’t feel that way. And as cliché as this sounds, he rescued me. He heard my SOS, and he rescues me, every single day.”


End file.
